#bc I always force myself to start with it and then burn out before i get to ME2 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shuastar · 8 months ago

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ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ (pt 2) (JWW)

ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴡɪɴᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴋᴇ!ᴡᴏ��ᴡᴏᴏ x ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴄʜᴇꜱꜱ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴡᴄ: 8.2 k (consistency is key??) warnings: none for now?? hot wonwoo, lowkey obsessed wonwoo, theres like a part where he's like "oh i couldn't control myself" but it's not like a sexual predator sorta way i promise, joshua featuring!! ᴀ/ɴ: i told myself i would post this before the la concert BUT i got too distracted buying a clear fucking bag from target bc i didnt know you had to bring a clear bag to us concerts??? bc ive only gone to korea concerts??? anyways, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ᴘʟꜱ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ <3 OH also if you're confused by the (y/n) (wonwoo) parts it's like the perspective thing (the perspectives switch bc i got boredd writing only y/n pov sorry!!)

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ; ɴᴇxᴛ

y/n

“Your grace.”

A silver fine-toothed comb gently brushed through your morning hair, untangling your curled knots. The winter air chilled the room and the hazy morning sunlight shined through the sheer curtains.

You hummed in acknowledgement.

Nai continued with her rhythmic brushing, slowly adding oils and perfumes to the ends of your hair. “I do not understand these rumors as of late, your grace,” Nai huffed, setting the comb down on the vanity desk with a little more force than necessary.

You let out a breathy laugh, slowly running your fingers through your silken hair. “I do not think rumors exist to be understood, Nai.”

Nai crosses her arms, the space between her eyebrows creasing. “But your grace! These rumors are absolutely outlandish! You! Infertile! I just cannot even begin to wrap my head-”

At her words, you notice a new cream-colored envelope sitting on the edge of the vanity. “-then don’t, Nai.” You look up at her. Her brown ringlets sit neatly against her shoulders and her wide hazel eyes are full of pure exasperation. It feels good, you think, to have someone care this much. It’s been a while.

“You don’t have to understand anything for me. Rumors will remain rumors,” you hum, reaching for the envelope.

Nai huffs in annoyance. You know it isn’t directed at you, but it still makes you smile nonetheless. Seungcheol might have been ruining your Society life, but at least he hired a maid right. Speaking of which, as your eyes glided through the contents of the palace-stamped envelope, it focused on the beginning:

My darling archduchess y/n,

I hope the duchy is prospering after my small present for your twenty third birthday. Speaking of, I have scheduled a tea for you in two days with Baron-

Again. Fucking again with the stupid engagement offers. If Seungcheol wasn’t the king, you would have already slapped him twice. He had always been somewhat of a parent figure in your life, especially after your grandmother’s death. But this? This was dangerously toeing the line of overstepping your boundaries. Actually, maybe the boundaries had been overstepped at your fifth engagement that ended with yet another cheating scandal. At this point, Prince Mingyu was right – how did Seungcheol even manage to conjure only cheating scandals for your shame to marinate in?

“Whose ball are we attending tonight, Nai?”

Nai tries to speak around the pearl bobby pin in her mouth. “Uck gong, er ace,” she starts, before she shakes her head. The bobby pin slides into your hair. “My apologies, your grace. Duke Hong’s winter season opening ball.”

You hum, toying with the edges of the envelope. If it wasn’t considered palace property, you would have burned it. God. Seungcheol was really teething at your fraying nerves. There’s only a certain number of engagements a Society woman can go through before she is considered unmarriable. You were way past that point.

If the king himself was not backing you, you would have already been the Society’s laughing stock. Because what failure of a woman cannot keep a man to herself for more than a couple of measly weeks?

At this point, you might as well just live and die alone.

Duke Hong’s winter season opening ball. You wouldn’t have agreed to attend if it was hosted by anyone else. Duke Hong happened to be your fellow library attendant during your formative years at the National Academy. Really, it was a pity you could not just conjure up a lie and stay back in the safety of your room. You would, except you had a sinking feeling Joshua would send you letter after annoying letter until you finally decided to let up and attend.

You don’t think you are fully ready for the full impact of the Society nobles just yet. To make matters worse, Nai had told you that she heard the people were giddy about the return of the Jeon Duchy to the capitol after the death of the previous heads of the house, and the return of the direct line, now the archduke, after his series of triumphant wins on the frontiers of the warring enemy country. The Society, you told yourself, was what you were afraid of. But a tiny (not so secret) part of you was not fully ready to see him again just yet.

The stuffy crowded ballroom seemed even more overpopulated under the yellow chandelier lights and the exponentially building pressure inside your chest. And Joshua’s estate’s not-so-hidden balcony did not give you enough coverage in the darkening night. If Joshua had not proposed for you to stay the night (“You should not be out after dark, y/n. Even if you have the best footmen in the world,” were his words), you would have retired to your own estate an hour ago. Actually, if Joshua had not been so adamant about your attending, you would have never left your estate in the first place.

But you could never say no to his face, especially when he pulled his little pout and sigh of faux disappointment that had followed him even out of the Academy.

There was a not-so-secret side of you that wanted to pull your hair out by the roots. The whispers, the gossips, the mumblings, the laughter that follows you wherever you go, you could do. You could live with it. You could do with it because that was what you had lived with for three years. Three miserable years of back-to-back engagements with all of High Society’s eligible men, hand-picked by the dear, beloved king. And no, of course, Seungcheol was not to carry the entire burden of blame. You blamed every single elder in your family and the royal courts. Every male figure in your life expects you to marry some rich, handsome man. If he knew how to dance, drink, breathe, and hold some semblance of self respect, he was eligible in their eyes. Even if, in the dark cover of night, they leave their homes and sneak onto the back alleyways of carnal desire.

Each season of Society that passes by you is another couple of months in which your vain, naive, wishful childhood dream of wanting to marry for love!! could not come true. In some ways, it was because you fully believe that love has its time (and your time had passed away three years ago), but also because sometimes, you had learned to give up things you innately wanted for something that would benefit you a little more in the future. Something that would cause you less pain. Something that could slowly become something you love.

You feel the built-up tears fill your eyes, champagne flute resting loosely between your gloved fingers. For a moment, you wish your grandmother was back with you. She would know what to do, what to say, what to choose. You wish she could have been there, three years ago, when you tried desperately to balance the exhausting, choking, mountains of pressure of an archduchess and a fragmented heart, which slowly shattered into unmendable glass pieces. You wish she could have pulled Wonwoo aside then and told him how you had suffered, maybe bring up even a smidge of guilt, worry, regret, something.

But that’s all wishful thinking, y/n, you chide yourself. Let it go, like you have done for the past three years.

But he wasn’t here during the three years, you wish you could argue. You wish you could hope for something and follow the tugs of your heart, but there is a shallow part of your mind that tells you no. Because the first time ended in shambles. Made you the laughing stock for two whole seasons. Kick-started your rather permanent fixture in the Society’s rumor mills. And just as you thought you had figured everything out, he comes waltzing back into your life – as part of the same royal council – like he had never left. And that in itself left a gaping, bubbling hole of rage in your heart.

The thin wooden door and curtain that separates you from the rest of the dancing ballroom flutters with the breeze. Your head pounds along with the bass of the cello inside – not too sure if it was caused by the champagne flute in your gloved hand or the incessant whispers that had followed your footsteps inside.

“Why did you have to come back,” you mutter bitterly, gazing up at the darkened night sky. A disbelieving laugh and a shake of your head. “Stop thinking about-”

You cut yourself off when the balcony door suddenly creaks open. You turn with half a mind to tell off whoever was bold enough to interrupt your obvious solitude. However, that train of thought very quickly comes to an end when you look back over your shoulder. The face you see almost makes you want to let out a laugh.

The very man you were ranting to yourself about stands in the curtained doorway. You hate that you can’t see his eyes behind his glasses in this light.

You open your mouth, nose scrunching in annoyance, about to say something along the lines of why the fuck are you here or do you find pleasure in giving me pain or can you leave, before the clouds move from the moon and you actually take him in. And not just take him in but take him in.

Wonwoo is standing there, chest rising and falling like he had just raced to the ball on his horse or had run around the entire Hong Estate trying to find something. Now, in the soft rays of the moonlight and the biting early-winter breeze, you can see his dark eyes behind his glasses – guarded. But as you study his (rather chiseled) face, he’s changed somehow. Your last memories of a twenty-one-year-old Wonwoo do not show the sharp intense prick of his gaze as it holds your own. You don’t remember it holding the same sort of pain and weight – like he was Atlas, holding the weight of the world on his broad shoulders.

Handsome, you think. But it’s gone before you can put a finger on it to hold it down long enough to fully think about it. You can’t really describe Wonwoo in words. That was something you had decided a long time ago.

He was handsome in the old-fashioned sense. A straight nose, dark almond eyes, the slightest permanent downturn of his lips. His defined jawline and his glasses that he had grown into. He was handsome in the most eligible bachelor sense. If your mother was still alive, she would have wanted you to be courted by him – no one less and no one more because there was no one more. And perhaps that was why you had been so over-the-top with him before: he was everything your mom would have adored – tall, pale, smart, handsome, built.

You steel yourself, letting a soft breath escape you before you say, “Your grace,” the title sounds oddly cold now coming from your parted lips, ��this is hardly the place for a welcomed noble.” You hate how your voice trembles ever so slightly at the end. Perhaps you had not been as ready for this as you thought you were.

Your voice seems to snap Wonwoo back to life. His lips twitch slightly but his expression remains frustratingly unreadable. “Just,” he starts, before his eyes glance at the floor, “I needed a moment,” he finally replies. And this time, his gaze is locked on yours.

Your throat tightens at his reply.

If you were nineteen-

No. You were not nineteen or twenty anymore. He had left.

Like everyone else did.

“So did I.” You take a small step backwards before whispering, “I always do.”

You think Wonwoo is going to continue the conversation, however strained, but he lets a silence hang in the air. It grows so thick you feel like it steals some of your oxygen away. You wonder if Wonwoo is also thinking about the past – about three years ago, about when you had nothing to worry about but being yourselves and completing school, when you had thought you would not inherit such a pressuring role until you were happily married for love. Like idiots. But even if he isn’t thinking the same thing as you, the silence is almost palpable in the air. Like it is giving room, a lost opportunity back.

Wonwoo’s eyes linger on you – not just your face but you – like he’s trying to make sense of the very thing you had tried your best to bury deep inside of you. Like he wanted you to either throw it all back up or he wanted to personally haul it to the surface. And you hated how he could make you feel naked, vulnerable, weak and like a naive, stupid child with just one look.

Finally, he whispers softly, “It’s been a long time, y/n.”

His voice is deep and not at all how you remembered it from three years ago. It seems different from his soft murmurs you had barely heard during his royal reentry ball. Your pulse jumps traitorously.

“Not long enough, it seems.” The words are supposed to come out icy, but it doesn’t come out as hard as you had hoped. Instead, your voice has a rather meek tone to it, as if even your vocal chords knew something you refused to admit.

Wonwoo doesn’t answer. The only indicator that he heard you at all is the brief upward twitch of his eyebrows.

You’re too proud, you know, to look away first. And you know what that will do. You can already feel the old memories – the ones you had (wished) long buried in the deepest parts of your fragmented heart – creep up: the warmth of the sun on your skin exposed on your sundress as you walked the grassy walkways of the park; the quiet laughs during an royal-sponsored opera; the knowing glances exchanged during another one of Mingyu’s complaints about a possible partner.

A burst of sudden loud laughter and chatter from below the balcony makes you whip around in a speed your grandmother would have called “excruciatingly unladylike,” and catch the tip of your heel in the grooves of the marble flooring. You have one second to register Wonwoo’s eyes widening and another second that is wasted on trying to save your champagne flute, before your palms are flat against Wonwoo’s defined chest. Your shattered champagne flute glints against the thin moonlight, forgotten at the sudden intrusion of your privacy – a sudden casualty of his presence.

His hands are barely there on your waist – the only things that are preventing you from falling off the rather low balcony railing are his arms, wrapped around your frame. His face is taut, as if he was actually worried about you falling off, and your corset feels excruciatingly tight around your straining ribs.

His stare is heavy and it feels like that one time again. Like when he whisked you away for your first dance as a debutante and accidentally dipped you in the middle of your opening waltz and you stayed there until the eye contact became unbearably awkward. He is doing the same thing – mouth just barely open, eyes unblinking and hands fleeting on your waist.

You can feel his entire chest under the thin fabric of his white button down. You go to push him away but something makes you hesitate.

You look up at him, breath hitching automatically at the closeness between you two.

“Wonwoo,” you whisper, fingers digging in just a little bit, “this is…” you trail off, too breathless and gobsmacked at this entire situation to continue. You just hope he is smart enough to fill in the rather obvious blanks.

You try to shake off the small detail that your eyes keep wandering back to Wonwoo’s arms, straining against his tailored suit. Small military stars adorn his collar, and you briefly wonder if you can blame his new aura of attractive ruggedness on the war and not your own deprived state of imagination.

You can feel Wonwoo’s grip on your waist tighten, a small crease appearing between his brow. His voice is a low murmur amongst the laughing crowd behind the curtain.

“Are you alright?” he asks. His breath fans over your lips. His voice is quiet and gentle – too gentle, too familiar.

You nod. You physically can’t bring yourself to pull away. You know, you know, what this would look like if someone just simply opens the balcony door. But in your proximity, Wonwoo’s cologne of some sort of earthy, gilded scent fills your senses and overwhelms your thoughts.

“Yes,” you manage, although it’s barely audible. “Your grace,” you add, hoping it would force distance, force out proximity. You swallow down the lump in your throat. Your lace-covered fingers pull at your gloves.

The title stings the tip of your tongue as it leaves.

The corners of his lips pull down at the utterance of the formal title leaving your lips. His forehead creases as if the formality of your words had disrupted some sort of intercontinental balance in him. “I apologize if I intruded and startled you,” he breathes, almost too quietly. Then, softer, as if he could not help himself, “y/n.”

Your name flows off of his tongue like a familiar melody – as if he had never gone away. You want to argue that he had no right to say your name – let it roll off his tongue so gently, as if he had caressed every syllable of your name. You want to yell at him to use your title. But you don’t.

Your fingers tighten on the lapels of his coat.

Under his heavy stare, you can’t help but feel seventeen again: waltzing gracefully up and down the gilded ballroom floors of every season’s opening ball; laughing under the Jeon Duchy’s library’s dim chandelier candle-light; walking down the Capitol’s Main Road, disguised as the common people, during the Mid Autumn Festivals. It’s like everything you had ever experienced with the man standing in front of you crashes into your pressured body like a tidal tsunami wave. And it just keeps on coming. Wave after wave of endless memories that you thought you had wrapped and hidden in the deepest parts of your brain, being uprooted from their perfectly comfortable spot and forced back into the main chamber of your heart.

To make matters worse, Wonwoo just stares. His expression is silent, unreadable. Not a single word leaves his mouth. Nor a noise. He just stares, like he knows what he’s doing. Like he knows exactly what’s going on inside your head.

It’s as if the entire room – the whole world – comes to a timeless standstill. You can faintly hear the orchestra playing a classical waltz – your favorite – in the ballroom and the taps of heels as the ladies dance the night away.

It’s as if Wonwoo’s gaze pierces you to your soul. As if he knew exactly how hard your heart was pounding against your rib cage. As if he could hear the stifled pants and gasps of breath you were trying to hide. His face moves ever so slightly closer to yours. Strands of black hair tickle your forehead.

His glasses slide down slowly from the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice thick with an emotion you can’t place. Grief? Regret?

You look up at him at his sudden apology. “For what, your grace?” You stubbornly keep the title. As if it could push you two apart. As if it could mask the thundering pounding of your poor heart.

For a second, Wonwoo looks almost pained. But it washes over back to his vague expressionless face again. You briefly wonder when his youthful tugs of emotion had disappeared.

“Everything,” he murmurs, and you feel his hand slowly make its way up – first your waist, shoulders, fingertips brushing against your neck – until his gloved hand cups your jaw, thumb resting lightly against your cheekbone.

Your eyes widen at his touches. “Won-”

“-y/n.” Wonwoo holds you like you are the only thing keeping him grounded – keeping him from flying away into the dark night sky. You see his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows, opening his mouth again, and this time, his eyes seem much deeper. A smile – a genuine one, unlike the one from his reentry ball – curves along his lips, dimples forming at the tips. “I missed you.”

Your entire body stiffens at his three words, and you can feel tears against your waterline. Your mouth falls open in a small ‘o’ and your hands clench tighter against his coat lapel. Your nails dig into the thick fabric.

Not fair.

Wonwoo looks at you like you just hung up the stars and moon in the twilight expanse.

“Wonwoo,” you mutter, looking away from his eyes. You’re afraid that if you keep eye contact, he’ll find out what you truly feel – what your walls are hiding.

“Y/n,” he replies, before his hand gently turns your head. He sounds so confident – as if he could protect you from everything – Society, marriage, whispers, gossip. His touch is so soft, so warm, so familiar that you let yourself be turned. You let his fingertips linger on your jaw, your cheek, thumbing your lips. You let his hair droop down to your forehead. You let his eyes trail down to the necklace that rests on the space between your collarbones and trail lower and lower. You let him do everything for a second.

And your heart stops.

Because in the next second, his head dips. His hand on your waist tightens its grip. His thumb caresses your cheek. And his lips are on yours.

His lips are on yours.

Eyes closed, Wonwoo presses his lips against yours like they never left. Like his lips alone could mend the gaping hole in your heart.

And it’s almost as if you have no control of your body because you find yourself melting into his embrace, eyes fluttering shut and hands pulling him a little closer than necessary.

Soft, is your first thought.

Wonwoo’s hand suddenly wraps around the back of your neck, tilting your head up to meet his lips in a deeper embrace. He breaks away for the briefest of moments, eyes dark and breath coming out in small pants like yours. You feel like your lungs are on fire. You find your hands buried in his messy black locks.

“Fuck,” Wonwoo breathes, and you swear he looks a little crazed. Like he had been starved off of something he desperately needed for the longest time. “I missed you so much,” he confesses.

His words trickle down your throat like agave honey – like sweet distilled liquor. It’s everything you had asked for.

Except he’s late. Maybe too late?

But you don’t really have the time to delve into that train of thought before Wonwoo’s lips are on yours again, stealing your words and breath from the confines of your mouth. His tongue swipes testingly against your lips and out of habit, they open the slightest bit.

Wonwoo’s grip against your neck, your waist, is tight, like he’s afraid you’ll fall out of his arms. Like he’s so afraid of you sinking into the dark.

And then it’s as if your entire being is suddenly wide awake – out of this weird, hazy, wrong drunken stupor.

Because at that moment, the balcony door that had once shielded you is thrown open and loud, half-drunken conversations flood both your ears.

You don’t even have the time to step away from Wonwoo before a scandalized gasp allows itself to pierce and fill the silenced air.

Lady Lim stands in the doorway, her fan dangling from her hand and another holding a champagne flute.

Your eyes snap open first.

Out of pure fight-or-flight, you shove Wonwoo off of you, breaking the kiss immediately. Wonwoo’s eyes are wide in shock, like he did not even expect himself to kiss you. Both of your chests heave (more yours than his), and you can feel your body tremble as adrenaline runs through you.

“Oh my!” Lady Lim’s shocked voice pierces through the night. “Oh dear, please forgive me,” she stumbles through her words, fan snapping open. You hear the quick snap of another fan unfurling and the hurried click-clack of heeled shoes running the other way. She fans herself with a dramatic flare, though her eyes never leave the scandalous little tableau that she had walked herself into.

It’s like all blood circulation is cut off from your limbs and any blood circulating in your head rushes to your thudding heart when you finally realize just how close, how unfitting, you and Wonwoo seem. Literally, you can already hear whispers form. And you can already picture it. It’s clear as a spring morning in your head. This scandal will ripple through every single fucking household by tomorrow morning. And if not tomorrow morning, then by afternoon tea.

“Oh I am terribly sorry,” she starts, and without even a single glance towards her, you know she knows it is you. “So very sorry,” she repeats, though it is obvious her apology is directed more towards the laughable sight of you than the indecent situation itself and the mischievous glint in her eyes tell another story.

You can physically feel your reputation, your dignity, your name that you had worked up from absolutely nothing shatter on the floor. You can feel your stomach twisting in on itself and every little thing you ate tonight makes its slow way back up your esophagus. Your honor is at stake. And although you had said something about not marrying (ever) and just living your life in your countryside ducal house, at the end of the day, you were nothing without Society. As a woman you were absolutely nothing without Society. But Wonwoo’s grasp of you doesn't seem to falter and your inhales quicken into an almost-desperate gasp of breaths when you start to see a crowd form and whisper.

You blame it on your imagination when you think you feel Wonwoo shift slightly to completely shield you from view. His body is still too close. It’s not what you think it is, you want to scream, but you know that will only worsen the situation. Your brain feels like a ticking bomb and you briefly wonder if Joshua will save you from this situation or if you will need to figure it out yourself. Now, your breaths are clearly audible – almost gasps of oxygen as you try desperately to not cry, scream, and throw up.

Suddenly, you feel Wonwoo slowly move his hands up towards your shoulder, gently patting it, as if to calm you. It does absolutely jack shit to calm you. You shove his hand off of your skin.

His calm voice cuts through the chatter: “This is not what it appears to be.”

But those words and his hands only serve to quicken your anxiety-induced breath.

Wonwoo’s been out of Society, not you. You don’t even have the time to think about your shit-show of a reputation, especially now that the entire three quarters of High Society has caught you so precariously positioned. So, you shove Wonwoo off of you with all your strength. It’s not much, but he stumbles backwards, leaving you almost shaking on the small balcony, under the wide-eyed stares and the gossiping lips beneath the fans of the ballroom. If anyone was drunk, they weren’t now. How could they ever miss another one of Duchess Y/n Park’s scandals?

Your mouth went dry. If this was anywhere but your current place, you could have scoffed and then broken down into tears. At least the high heavens are serious about not letting you find a workable marriage.

Lady Lim slowly disperses back into the crowd, only the curtain closing behind her giddy form, no doubt to tell anyone who did not know the entire story.

The moment the curtain closes, it’s like your soul returns to your body. You collapse into your skirts, back against the iron railing. Your hands tremble until you dig your nails into your palms.

“This is the worst fucking thing that could have happen,” you whisper, a horrified look evident in your eyes. You dare to look up at Wonwoo and you feel a tear slip out. “Why would you do that?” Your voice is hoarse, barely audible. The only thing that circles your mind is reputation, reputation, reputation, on and on and on. You try to ignore the way you pulled him close just mere seconds ago. The way you breathily moaned into his lips as well.

That seems to work on Wonwoo because his expression immediately softens and his eyes fill with what you haphazardly tack as genuine remorse. He reaches out to you, but then hesitates when you flinch ever so slightly. His hands fall to his sides.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, but his fingers gently touch his lips like he can’t believe they were just on yours. “I’ll set it right,” he promises. And maybe it's the steadiness in his voice, but for some reason, a small, naive part believes him for a fleeting moment.

Until the curtain was strewn open again.

This time, Duke Hong filled the doorway.

And it isn’t even a question to anyone who he cares for more because without even a second look at Wonwoo, he runs to your side.

“y/n.” You allow his warm touch around your shoulders as he hauls you up. He gives you one quick look over and it’s like he knows how the entire situation ran down.

At least, you think bitterly, if I finally get ousted from Society, Joshua will still entertain me.

“Wait-” Wonwoo starts, his hand going out again, only to be stopped by a withering glare on Joshua’s part.

His usually warm doe eyes are dreadfully, terrifyingly sharp as they drill into Wonwoo’s. “I think you have done quite enough, your grace,” he forces through clenched teeth.

Then:

“You’re okay,” he whispers, leading you through the parting of people. A thick fabric is tossed over your shoulders, the hood coming up over your face. It was as if stepping a foot into your space could contaminate them with the Disease of the Scandals. You barely register him gesturing off to the side and saying something before he guides you again, a gentle pat here-and-there on your bare shoulder.

“You’re such a liar,” you mumble, lace gloves going up to dab at your watery eyes.

When did I even start crying?

It does nothing to quell your situation. Instead, your tears run down your cheeks. “Don’t lie to me, Shua.”

Joshua is quiet as he leads you down a hall and into his personal parlor. When you step into the room, the door shuts. He says nothing as he sits you down on a stuffed recliner and hands you a glass of tea.

He is quiet until you swallow down your first sip and your tears have mostly stopped.

He clears his throat as he stands above you, thick arms crossed and his hair falling into his eyes. “What the fuck was that?” His hand rakes through his hair and his sudden emphasis on the curse word makes you jump in your seat. His concerned doe eyes turn to you and he marches over, laying a hand on your shoulder. “Did he touch you?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing together worryingly. “Did he – God forbid – force you into that situation?” His grip on your shoulder tightens as you don’t answer.

Your cheeks heat up. “No!” you splutter, setting the teacup down. “Oh my god, no! No, no, no, no!” You chant, slapping Joshua’s arm in retaliation. “Why would you– No!” Your fingers went to your temples and your eyes closed.

“Then what? Did he pull you in and kiss you?” Joshua demands.

You hesitate. “Well…” you trail off, looking down at your skirts. It gives Joshua all the confirmation he needs.

His eyes bug out of their sockets. “He kissed you? Out of absolutely fucking nowhere?” Joshua’s voice raises an entire pitch, ringing through the foyer.

You wince. “God, can we not talk about what just happened?” You beg, desperation seeping into your voice. “Actually,” you state, pushing Joshua’s hand off your shoulder and standing up, “I’m leaving. No way,” a laugh of pure disbelief escapes you, “absolutely no way I’m staying here.” You turn when Joshua’s voice rings out.

“Y/n, wait. Are you okay, though?”

“What?”

Joshua closes the distance between you two, bringing you into a hug. It is so sudden it takes you off guard and your first reaction is to pull away – leave the situation. Like you try to do every time. But Joshua keeps you there, stroking your hair. And it’s like the entire situation feels so much more real. You feel yourself shaking and it doesn’t register to you that you are crying again until Joshua’s murmurs fill your ears.

“You’re okay. It’s going to be okay. I’ve got you.” Joshua’s whispers, however fake they will be, offer a slant of confidence in your ruined Society life at least for one season. But even his words tremble at the end and you know he’s lying to calm your soul for this fleeting moment.

“I’m ruined, Shua,” you sob, and your hands grab his coat, tears staining his beige silk shirt. You can’t even begin to think of what would happen tomorrow, the day after, a week after, at the next ball, even. You refuse to admit how much the consequences of tonight scare you.

Joshua hums into your hair, swaying the two of you slowly. His pats encourage more caged words to tumble out of your mouth as your sobs die down.

A stuttered breath. “I don’t know why this keeps happening to me,” you murmur, your throat hurts from your gasps of breath as you try to maintain some sort of dignity in front of the older man. “I don’t know why- I just keep becoming the, the, the rumor mill of High Society. I don’t know why- – why can’t I just keep to myself?” Your voice cracks at the end as tears fall down your cheeks again, hot and wet against your porcelain blushed cheeks.

Joshua’s hold tightens at your ending words and he mumbles, “y/n, y/n, this – any of this – was never your fault. Wonwoo should have been more careful. He of all people knows how Society works,” he comforts, pulling away slightly. A sad smile is on his lips when he sees your tear-stricken face, black smudging your waterline. He takes a handkerchief out and dabs at your undereyes gently, wiping the running makeup.

You sniff, looking down at your feet. “Don’t look at me like that,” you whisper. When you look back up, Joshua’s eyes are wide as they take in your watery eyes again. “Don’t look at me with pity. I don’t deserve it.” Without wanting to, your lips stretch into a bitter smile. It’s always been like this. Ever since he left, people had always looked at you with a fleeting sense of pity. A sense of patronizing pity – oh, you poor, poor, naive little girl, it seemed to whisper. You should’ve known better.

Joshua shook his head. “You know I don’t pity you, y/n.” His words are firm, like he has always been. You lean back into his comforting embrace, arms pulled close to your chest, letting his familiar warmth encase you for a moment. Briefly, you wonder if this was what it would have felt like growing up with an older brother.

“y/n, if you don’t mind me asking,” Joshua trails off, swaying gently. His fingers comb through your hair.

You hum, body-wracking tears dying down.

He clears his throat and you know what he is about to ask before he even opens his mouth. “Are you truly over him?” a pause. Joshua continues, “Of course, I’m not saying I don’t believe you. Or that it’s wrong in any sense. Actually, I think Seungcheol would much rather you-” he cuts himself off like he just said something he wasn’t supposed to say. He coughs to fill the silence. “It’s just, maybe it’s not so simple, you know? Of course, I was never very close to the Archduke, even during our shared Academy time, but I’ve seen him more than you have, definitely, over his absence in Society. I don’t know, of course, fully, his true feelings, but I feel as though he’s always held a conflicted heart towards you.”

You almost scoff at his words. “Conflicted?” You repeat. If anything, you were the one who was conflicted, not him.

Joshua hesitates, as if he’s choosing the right word to continue his explanation. As if he knows with just one word, all the walls you have built over Wonwoo’s absence will come tumbling down, brick by brick.

“Perhaps not conflicted, per se,” he hums, pulling away so he can look you in the eyes. “But maybe more so regretful? Sorrowful, I think, may be the right word to describe it.” He lets his words hang in the foyer air.

Sorrowful, you think. It’s almost laughable how comparable that word is to how you felt – wrathful, destitute, longing for something you knew was never going to come true.

You catch yourself before your thoughts go further down, shaking your head as if it would get rid of everything. “Whatever he feels, we are over. We are a scandal waiting to happen – even tonight! Look at us! Look at me! Whenever I’m around him, Shua, I just completely lose it! Fuck,” you sigh, and you sink down into your skirts. Your brain hurts from how much your two sides are arguing. One part of you wants desperately to tell Joshua how you feel. How, since Wonwoo’s return, every night as you laid in bed, you could only replay the image of him kissing your knuckles. How, since his greeting words, your fluttering heart started to stutter when the morning mail came in, as if waiting for a letter. Another part of you want to keep it all a secret – pretend it never existed. If you pretend hard enough, maybe it will slowly become the truth. That part wants you to stay in this cycle, and maybe one day, Seungcheol would finally find someone good enough that you could ignore all of their nightly walks for.

Joshua looks at you. And this time, both of you know it’s with pity – not for you but for your conflicted state. “Be honest with yourself, y/n. At least for matters concerning love,” he advises, bringing your hands up to his lips. A quick kiss is placed onto your knuckles before he steps away, towards the door.

“Where are you going?” you ask.

Joshua gives you a tired smile and a knowing look. Then you register the faint hums of the orchestra from outside. “Ducal duties, I guess. I have a ball to run,” he laughs, before placing a hand on your shoulder. “Stay here for however long you need to. I’ll have the kitchen staff send something up for you.” He hesitates before adding, “I’ll try to clean up this situation the best I can.”

You must be getting closer to your period because those simple words almost have you close to tears again. You give him a watery smile. “Thank you, Joshua.”

Joshua just grins, stepping out. “Anything for my junior.” And the door clicks shut behind him.

As soon as the door closes, you collapse onto the nearest couch. You swallow, head slamming into the nearest cushion.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it and maybe it’ll just die over.

You laugh to yourself.

When has it ever “just” died over.

Wonwoo

Wonwoo swears he didn’t even know y/n was on the balcony. He was just overwhelmed – overwhelmed by the sudden mass of people crowding him when he didn’t expect it. It made his heart thud in his chest and made him forget every noble etiquette he learned in his formative years.

Wonwoo swears his first intention was to kiss you. But when he had you so close and you looked up at him with such honeyed eyes, everything he learned, he forgot. It was as if his years on the battlefield rid him of his confidence with you. It was as if he was back when he was twenty one, stealing a first (and last) hesitant kiss from you in the royal orchards.

Wonwoo swears he didn’t mean for this entire thing to happen. He’s not praying for your societal downfall, of course not! He didn’t waltz himself into the stupid winter season opening ball just to kiss you and then have one of the biggest blabbermouths of Society walk in on you two. Hell, he didn’t even want to be at the stupid fucking ball to begin with. But Seungcheol said something about his duty as an archduke to show up to opening season balls or something and he found himself in a carriage, being dropped off in front of the Hong Estate.

After Joshua had taken you away, it was like the world started spinning again. And he found himself trying to escape a crowd of people until Joshua had returned and concluded the ball.

Which is how he finds himself in Joshua’s study, staring at Joshua’s back as he watches the last of his guests leave through the large study windows.

The room is hushed, and a thick tension overlays the entire atmosphere of the room. It’s dimly lit and Wonwoo notices the sheer number of bookshelves and portraits of the previous dukes of the Hong line that decorate the walls. Joshua’s study is the epitome of tradition, of duty, of something he never saw himself to be. Joshua himself stands at the windowsill, arms crossed, and his usually calm demeanor obviously frayed at the end.

It makes Wonwoo’s current situation that much more terrifying.

Joshua breaks the silence first, his voice low but unmistakably sharp.

“What the fuck was that, Wonwoo?”

There is no preamble, no pleasantries. It was very unlike Joshua to get straight to the point.

The words are distinctly sharp but they very obviously carry a tone of accusation and an undercurrent of disbelief. Like he could not believe Wonwoo was here to begin with.

Joshua turns slowly, brows furrowed and eyes narrowing. “You’ve been gone for years and this is the first thing you do?” A laugh of disbelief cuts through the air. “Have you lost your goddamn mind?”

Wonwoo’s jaw locks at his accusing words. His voice is tight with irritation. Joshua’s (in)advertent accusation pricks some shallow part of his conscience. “Maintain your-”

“-Maintain my what? My position?” Joshua interrupts like he just heard the most outrageous thing from the night. He leans against a bookshelf, a shaking exhale leaving his body. “Do you even know what you just dragged the poor girl into?”

“What exactly do you think I did?” Wonwoo blanches, straightening. He didn’t hold her against her will or force her into any situation. He was just-

Joshua steps a step closer and under this light, Wonwoo can very clearly see the barely-controlled anger in Joshua’s eyes. “You know what I mean. What you did tonight,” he gestures vaguely off to the side, “there is no excuse for that.” His arms cross, tone dropping to something quieter and much more piercing. “And you pull this shit after everything she’s been through?” he scoffs, “Do you know what this scandal will do to her? What she had to fucking live with for the three years you were conveniently gone from her life?” Every curse word that leaves Joshua’s unlikely mouth stings. Especially because during the entirety of Wonwoo’s fifteen years of knowing Joshua, he’s never heard a single curse word leave the man’s mouth until now.

Wonwoo’s brows furrow in confusion. “What-” Joshua’s words echo in his head. “What do you mean by that?”

Joshua’s frustration only deepens at his words. “The whispers that followed y/n?” He lets out a small, bitter laugh when Wonwoo stares at him like he just uttered something in a completely different language. “Of course,” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. “Of course you didn’t know. You weren’t even here,” he strains. “You have no idea – not even an inkling – of what she had to go through. The rumors, the scandals, the fucking engagements that all ended in-” Joshua cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh, closing his eyes.

Wonwoo blinks, a sense of dread overcoming his senses. ‘Engagements? What- what are you-”

Joshua perfectly ignores him. “You think she can just simply brush off whatever you just did? That Society will let her brush it off?”

Wonwoo’s gaze wavers as something tightens in his chest. It’s like every one of Joshua’s words hit something in him. He steps backwards slightly. His hands shake in fists next to him. “I never meant for this entire thing to happen,” he mutters. But he can’t help the guilt that begins to creep into his voice. “I never intended for any of this, Joshua.”

At his shaking words, Joshua’s posture lets up the slightest bit. Instead of pure anger, there is now a quiet concern that mixes itself in.

“You think she’s been waiting for you this entire time, Wonwoo?” he asks. “No, your grace.” The title hits Wonwoo hard. “She’s been through enough, man. Let her live.” He takes a slow step towards Wonwoo, eyes softer now. “Do you know how each of her engagements ended, Wonwoo?” Joshua’s jaw clenches. “With each and every man going off with some other whore in the back alleys. Every. Single. One.”

The weight of Joshua’s words hit him like a horse plowing through the fields. “I-” he doesn’t even know what to say. Each and every man going off with some other whore. The phrase repeats itself over and over and over inside his head. He doesn’t even know what the emotions that wrack his body are. Anger? Guilt? Some sort of combination?

“She’s always been frightfully alone – against Society, the judgment, the pain of the engagements. The entire Society just sees her as a scandal waiting to happen.” Joshua lets out a breath, swallowing.

Wonwoo is frozen in his place, every word that leaves Joshua’s mouth cutting a deeper wound into his heart. “I never wanted that for her,” he whispers. “I never wanted her to feel alone. I never-”

“-But you did, Wonwoo.” Joshua’s voice cracks and his eyes glisten with pity. “Wonwoo, when you left, you absolutely broke her.”

At his words, Wonwoo stumbles back like it is a physical blow.

“She cried almost every other night. She wouldn’t eat at her own estate so Seungcheol ordered her to stay at the palace. Mingyu,” he lets out a frustrated laugh, “Mingyu, he had to carry her up to a guest room every night because she would fall asleep in the library.” Joshua’s gaze is piercing. “But I guess you were too busy doing whatever.”

Wonwoo’s eyes are wide, his breath still in his throat. He feels his stomach twist and his hands clench into fists. “I didn’t know,” he repeats, almost as if it's a mantra that keeps him afloat. As if he was trying to convince himself. He feels something break inside of him – a dam, a wall, something. Because for the first time since his return, he feels the full weight of the distance between him and y/n. No. Maybe it was always there to begin with and he had refused to face it. He can finally feel the missed years, the cut conversations, the things she had to endure without him. The things she had to endure because of him. It’s like everything is crashing down around him in pieces of broken glass, cutting small pieces of his skin. It’s like all of his mistakes, his failures, his greed that made him think only of himself, comes crashing down in full-force.

“How do I-” Wonwoo mumbles. There is a strange pressure behind his eyes. “How do I fix this?” When he looks back up at Joshua, he’s at a loss for words. “I never meant to hurt her.”

Joshua shakes his head slowly, voice firm in this. “But you did. You can’t change that now, three years later. Just fix it. She’s suffered long enough.” Joshua steps back, turning to the window. “Show her that you’re not leaving again. That she can trust you again.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” Wonwoo’s voice sounds broken, even to his own ears.

Joshua pauses. He looks over his shoulder. “Then it doesn’t. But if you feel anything towards her, you’ll try.”

Wonwoo’s eyes close and his hands find purchase on Joshua’s desk. Stupid, he thinks, swallowing back lumps in his throat. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. Should’ve stayed away.

: ̗̀➛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ @syluslittlecrows @gaslysainz @meowmeowminnie @luvjichang @peachytokki @nicoleparadas @haneulparadx @mj-szaa @lilylikesthat @ppaia @ameliamirabela @tearsdntfall617

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profilerclra · 9 months ago

Text

I take time with the ones I choose | Spencer Reid x Reader

In which reader is jealous of Spencer after he kissed Lila on the pool

fluff, with a hint of angst but not really

Content: Jealousy, the tiniest bit of pet names, light swearing, munch & flirty Spencer bc we all know he can be that if he wants to <3

---------

You were finally back at the BAU, replaying details of this night as you anxiously worked on your paperwork, the whole team besides Spencer had gone already, and you cannot wait to get back home.

The team had finally caught the unsub that was stalking the actress Lila Archer. The stalker had showed up at the house Lila and Spencer were, which was supposed to be a safe house, but she somehow found where they were. You had stayed back at the precinct and, when you got back to the house they were at, you found out through Elle and the large amount of photos the stalker had taken that they had kissed, in her pool. Your heart dropped when you saw them, and you had become quieter since then.

You were jealous, there was no denying of it. But it was not just unfounded jealousy. You and Spencer had been friends since you joined the team and you two had always flirted with each other jokingly in the beginning but, with time, it started to feel like it was only a matter of time and taking the initiative before you two got together. Or so you thought.

What saddened you, wasn't entirely on the fact he had kissed her, but how fast it was. You had accepted the "slow burn" with him, years of back and forth flirting that you could swear was going somewhere. But now, when in the matter of in less of a day, he already kissed a girl he had just met? The only resolution you could find was that he might just not be into you.

"Hey, are you feeling ok?" Spencer says, standing next to your desk, his voice suddenly pushing you out of your thoughts.

"Hi, yeah I'm great, just tired" You say, giving him a small smile and trying your best to sound convincing

"I know you're lying, I'm a profiler and, your best friend for 5 years"

"Yeah, maybe that's the fucking problem" You lash at him, words coming out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. The instant regret hits you

"What? What do you mean by the problem" He says, his face with an expression mixed between confused and worried about you

You take a deep breath before answering, trying to decide between making up a stupid excuse to get out of this conversation or finally telling him the whole truth. You decide to go for the latter.

"You know what, for a genius you're really oblivious sometimes, or maybe all those pet names you call me, and the hugs and the late nights at your house watching movies were all platonic and I got it all wrong. You know what, forget it, it's not your fault, I'm the one who's stupid for thinking something was going on. Sorry"

"Oh my god, I can't believe that you are jealous" He says, smiling now

"Yes, of course I'm jealous! Maybe after years of flirting with me, and not doing anything else I thought 'oh, maybe it takes him sometime to get there!' but then, you decided to kiss a girl you met a few hours before." You say, not wanting to overreact, but god, the fact he's so clueless about that just angers you.

"Oh honey, I had no idea you felt like this" He says, getting closer to you and placing a hand on your waist

"See, this is exactly the problem! You act like this" You say gesticulating between the two of you, "What the hell are we? I need to know, I can't keep acting like I'm fine with just being friends and I certainly can't keep seeing you kissing other girls, as dumb as it sounds "

"Remember that time a cop was flirting with you and I accidentally dropped coffee on him?"

"Yeah, what about it"

"It wasn't an accident, I just hated seeing you laugh at his stupid jokes. My point is, of course I feel the same towards you, I have to really force myself to not go ranting at every cop and detective that thinks they're good enough for you"

Hearing him say that, loud and clear, made your heart flutter, but still did not get why it took you freaking out for him to say something.

"Then, why have you never even asked me out"

"I don't know, I was just taking my time with you… with us. I really do care for you, I guess I was just making sure we did things right"

"I hate you, Spencer. You don't even let me get angry at you before you come in with a totally reasonable response. That's just no fun" You look up, jokingly rolling your eyes at him, pretending to be annoyed.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Should I remove my confession to you right now?"

"Don't you dare do that" You say, closing the space between you two and kissing him. He holds you closer, wrapping his arms around you and deepening the kiss, he smiles against your lips, wrapping his arms around you to pull you closer. You both stay in that position for a few moments, enjoying the moment. You pull away, looking into his eyes.

"So… Can I take you to dinner this Sunday?" He says, breaking the silence between you two

"I really thought you would never ask" Both of you laughing as he pulls you into another kiss

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x bestfriend!reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid one shot

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star-girl69 · 2 years ago

Text

Fade Into You

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!AphroditeCabin!Reader

—-

sypnosis: you fell first, but clarisse fell harder. requested by anonymous!

a/n: decided to feed y’all today….. two fics i’m a monster that just creates and creates. this was so funny bc i kept accidentally writing angst and i had to stop myself. they’re allowed to have crushes on each other. it’s ok. this was hard anyways i hope you all enjoy!!

Fade Into You - Mazzy Star

warnings: just so cutesy, swearing, mentions of violence, mentions of blood and injury, soft clarisse i looooovvvvveeeeee you, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

Your chest heaves. You’ve never ran that fast or that far before in your life. Your satyr protector runs ahead to get the healers, and you crash against some random building- a tool shed, maybe?

You groan, crouching down to clutch at your lower leg sporting a large gash running blood. You don’t remember how it happened. Maybe it was when you fell? You could have sliced it open on an unfortunately sharp stick.

You don’t even want to think about the fact that the stupid monster thing chasing you could have gotten close enough to claw at you.

“Hey, hey,” someone says, crouching down next to you. She’s wearing an orange shirt. Her hair is curly, her eyes are pretty and brown, and oxygen isn’t getting to your brain so she kind of seems like an angel. “Oh, wow,” she mutters, looking at your leg. “One second, ‘kay?”

“Wait,” you say, grabbing onto her forearm. She looks up at you.

“I’m going two steps away, dummy.” She laughs, and you’ll remember that sound for the rest of your life.

She leaves you, and you almost want to cry because you feel so alone. You’ve just been told you’re a demigod, then you were forced to run through the woods, your heart is still hammering and your leg fucking burns.

But she was right. It was only two steps, and she comes back, the door of what must be some sort of storage shutting behind her.

She leans back down and presses a towel against your gash.

You hiss.

“Sorry,”

“You’re not.” She laughs again. More beautiful music in your ears.

“I’m not,” she agrees.

You fall into silence, it’s so dark out, but you can see everything about her so clearly.

“You can stop breathing so heavily,” she whispers, the shouting of your satyr protector getting closer, along with what must be the healers. “Camp Half-Blood is surrounded by a magical barrier. You’re safe here. Well, at least, no monsters are gonna get you.

“O-okay,” you mumble. You aren’t sure if you believe her. You don’t think you believe anything anymore.

The healers push her away, you’re so so tired, and she stands up, dusting off her hands.

“Thank you, Clarisse,” one of the healers says. “We’ll take it from here.”

Clarisse.

—-

The purpose of Clarisse La Rue’s entire existence seems to be to drive you insane.

The way her arms flex when she wields her spear, the way she lifts her shirt up to dab at sweat on her brow; and the way you can see her toned stomach and the faintest hint of abs you would actually kill to touch. The way she smiles, even though it’s never really genuine, and the way she laughs when she’s making fun of someone.

She was the first person you met at camp, and you’re pretty sure she doesn’t even remember it, yet alone know your name.

It was ironic, as the daughter of Aphrodite, to be quietly pining over someone from the distance. And it sucked, but maybe you would just always have this quiet crush on Clarisse, and you learned to take it like you took your breakfast.

Until the start of this summer, when everyone came back to camp, it was alive again, and it all changed. And now you’re fucked.

—-

You smile, watching a few of the younger campers scream about how amazing the lake is. Summer’s just started. It’s so beautiful this time of year. They didn’t have as traumatic experiences as you, no monsters chased them right up to the barrier of camp. The lake is huge and so blue it seems otherworldly- probably because it is.

You slam into something.

It’s an awkward flare of limbs and muttered obscenities, but you manage to keep yourself upright by falling back into a very convenient tree.

“Sorry,” you say, looking up and expecting to make eye contact with anyone but her.

You haven’t been face to face with Clarisse in four years. You mouth snaps shut, and you’re sure you look like a terrified deer in headlights.

She’s frozen just like you.

“W-watch where you’re going,” she hisses, pushing you farther into the tree as she walks past you.

Did Clarisse just stutter?

—-

Clarisse stares at you.

You blush like you’re about to turn into a flamingo.

The cycle repeats.

—-

This year, the Ares and Aphrodite cabins were paired together to share the field for sword practice just before dinner. The sun is hidden by the trees, providing some nice shade as you frown at all the Ares kids sparring like their lives depend on it.

While Aphrodite kids are not the most naturally skilled in fighting, you’re still demigods, and you still have to know how to protect yourselves.

Matty, a Ares child and your sister Tyla’s boyfriend, already sparred three times, winning against his siblings, then sparred with Tyla once; which just ended with her getting bored after a minute and dropping her sword before jumping into his arms.

You watch random people spar. Everyone moves around you, Tyla and Matty are on top of each other next to you on the bench, everyone walks around you to collect their water bottles from the table behind you.

“Aren’t you gonna spar, Y/N?” Tyla asks, fiddling with Matty’s hands.

“No,” you laugh.

“That’s against the rules.”

You know that voice, you hear that annoyingly angelic voice in your dreams.

Clarisse sits down next to you. You can hear Tyla smiling. Only a few of your siblings who can be trusted to keep a secret know about your wretched crush. You’re probably blushing.

“Uh, what?” you say, looking in her direction but not risking actually looking at her.

“You have to spar,” she says, like it’s painfully obvious, kicking out her legs.

“I’ll do it tomorrow,” you shrug.

“Sounds like you’re scared, Y/N,” Matty muses.

You shoot him a bored look. “Sounds like you’re whipped, Matty.”

Tyla is currently in Matty’s lap, her hands in his hair.

“Oh, definitely,” he says, turning towards Tyla with a sweet smile on his face and she coos and immediately attaches her face to his.

“Oh, Gods,” you mutter, turning away from the two of them having borderline sex on the bench.

Clarisse laughs.

You clench your fist, you feel like you’re gonna explode being so close to her and not able to climb up into her lap and kiss her like a woman starved.

“You still have to spar, you know.”

“Are you going to tell on me?”

“Hm, no. I won’t have to.”

You finally look towards her, if only because you’re confused, but she’s looking straight out at the the distance, where a certain centaur is making his way to the fields-

“Oh, fuck,” you hiss, immediately jumping up and scrambling for a sword from the pile behind you.

You turn around, hoping one of your siblings is free so you can spar with them-

The sword is ripped out of your hands.

“That one sucks,” Clarisse says, simply, while you stand there with your mouth open. She rifles through the swords. “Use this one instead.”

The one she hands you does seem a lot easier to hold. Not too heavy, not too light.

How the hell could she tell which one is best for you just by looking at you?

“Matty,” Clarisse says. “Chiron’s coming.”

Tyla and Matty both hop up, giggling at they make their way towards one of the marked circles.

As you’re left there with Clarisse, it suddenly hits you that after four years of simple indifference, she’s talking to you like she knows you. Or like she wants to know you.

You like her too much to question it. You want her too much to be bothered as to why she’s giving you five minutes of her time.

Clarisse walks away. You thought it was going to happen, so your heart feels this sort of heavy that is indescribable, but she turns around.

“Are you coming?” she asks, deadpan.

“Oh. Uh, yeah,” you say, sticking your sword under your arm and cracking your knuckles. With Chiron showing up, she leads you to the marked circle all the way at the edge of the field, the start of the woods, the very last one.

She stops and turns around, this sort of nonchalant but smug look on her face. She reaches forward and bats your hands away from each other with a single swat that leaves you so shocked from the feeling of her skin on hers that your hands fall to your sides.

“Stop that. You’ll hurt ‘em.”

Here, right in front of the trees, the sun shining through the gaps shines off of Clarisse’s tan skin and her bronze armor in a way that makes her look otherworldly.

Clarisse’s that kind of pretty where you just never want to stop staring at her. The kind of pretty where you just want to fade into her and be next to her; the kind of pretty where nothing compares to her but it just watches her too.

Like the sun behind her, it isn’t jealous, it just admires her and shines off her skin.

She’s smirking at you, her knees bending into an offensive position, her spear pointing at you.

“He’s watching,” she taunts, and you’re really not in the mood for a lecture and the loss of dessert privileges, so you copy her.

“I’m not the best-”

She spins forward, spear arcing toward you. You yelp, raising your sword up to block her spear. They slam together.

“You’ll do fine,” she smiles, so smug in a way that makes you want to slap her and kiss her all at once.

“Whatever,” you mumble as she pulls back.

But you feel a little more confident with her praise, launching a surprise attack. She seems a little shocked, but she blocks it, probably a bit closer than normal.

“Feisty,” she murmurs.

“What the hell does that even mean?”

She launches her own attack, more force behind it this time, and it’s harder to stop her, but you do, you push her back.

“It means you’re exactly like I thought you were.”

You frown, because what is she even saying, but she launches another attack, smiling brightly as you block it, her eyes never leaving your form.

It’s a blurry of your heartbeat in your ears, her smile, the clash of her spear and your sword, the rest of the field coming to life with the sound of metal on metal, wins and losses.

Your arm is growing heavy.

But you keep your eyes open, blocking her attacks and waiting for an opening you’re not sure will ever come.

Finally, she reveals her side, and you swing, your sword clanging as it hits her metal armor.

She looks down at your sword and then you.

When she looks up again, it’s never the same.

—-

“Did you let me win that first day?”

You’re in the woods with her, so many months after that first day, and it all still feels like it was yesterday. You’re laying on a blanket on the soft grass, facing each other, limbs tangled together and her arm around you.

“Hm?” she says, slightly sleepy.

“When we sparred?”

“Oh,” she smiles, yawns. “Yeah, I let you win.”

You gasp and hit her arm.

“Clar, that’s, like, horrible. Our relationship was built on lies.”

You’re the only person allowed to call her that.

She frowns. “It wasn’t. What are you talking about?”

“I was gloating over you for months, and you let me-”

“Okay, but, you still won. I just helped you a bit. That’s what a good girlfriend should do.”

“You were not my girlfriend then.”

“Yeah, but you wanted me to be. For how long? Four years?”

You roll yours eyes. “You bumped into me once and then became obsessed with me.”

She smiles against you as she kisses your forehead.

“Who wouldn’t?” she snorts. “Not my fault you bumped into me in a way no one else ever has, angel.”

“My love language is just bumping into people, I think.”

“Then you can’t bump into anybody but me. Or else I’d kill them, probably.”

“A true romantic.”

She wraps her arms around you, muscles flexing as she pulls you on top of her.

“Only for you, angel,” she says, eyes falling closed again. “‘M cold, be my blanket.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be all rough and tough?”

“Can’t be with you,” she yawns. “Love you too much. Now shush. I’m gonna fall asleep.”

“You big baby,” you mumble. “Big bad Clarisse needs to fall asleep with her girlfriend and get her full eight hours or else she’ll go on a rampage.”

“Damn right.”

Clarisse is the type of pretty that just makes you wanna fade into her. And you do, in the light of the rising moon, the light of the fading sun. You fade into her.

—-

y/n when clarisse helps her on her first day: wow, an angel 😍😍

clarisse when y/n bumps into her: wow, an angel 😍😍

ALSO CLARISSE CALLING Y/N ANGEL???? I THINK I’VE FOUND MY NEW OBSESSION Y’ALL

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #pjo tv show #pjo x reader

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btsmosphere · 1 year ago

Text

Supercharged | JJK

Chapter 15: Powerless

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🗲summary: It starts with a blow to the chest that changes your life. When your city’s most celebrated hero pays a visit, it turns out the noble Bolt has no trouble tossing lives aside. Lives that won't be missed. Lives like yours. Seven mysterious and powerful men give you another chance – one that starts to feel more like a curse the moment you meet golden boy Jungkook. The boy who wants you as far from his brothers as he can get you. Is it you he hates, or the blue lightning that now runs through your veins? And could it be his golden light that illuminates your heart when darkness threatens? 🗲this chapter: It's time to make the fight on your terms.

🗲pairing: jungkook x female reader 🗲word count: 6.4k 🗲genre: angst, action, eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, slow burn, superheroes/villains au, found family 🗲rating: pg15 🗲warnings: violence, violence with superpowers, murder, this is the most violent one, swearing, injuries, discussion of homelessness, discussion of crime

a/n: If you didn't read the warnings!! Or even if you did! This is your warning for on-screen murder. It's not very gory, but it is very much there. (spoiler, but) we kill our villains in this one lads, it was kind of the whole point of this thing :))) also most of the word count on this one is the fight so help me lmao, why do I do this to myself🤣 With that out of the way, I am super excited for this chapter!! Protective Jungkook now applies to yn maybe more than anyone and hello yes I am here for it (ofc bc I wrote it ksdfghfl) Enjoy!! And do let me know if you like it!💜💜

Jungkook’s hand was still clutched in yours as you crept together through alleyways. Far, now, from your usual haunt, you recognised none of these streets, but Jungkook never hesitated in his steps.

Sure enough, he led you round a cluster of dustbins on one corner and stopped at last in front of a heavy door. Graffiti was scrawled over the entrance and across the entire wall. If you were to arrive here in the dark, you may not have noticed the seam marking out a doorway at all.

“I thought he might choose this place,” Jungkook muttered to you, “this is where Namjoon first picked me up, after I got my powers. He operated from here until his partnerships brought in enough money for the place in town.”

He turned to knock on the door. All you could do was squeeze his hand, eyeing the surroundings. Things must have changed from before. This was where your team had begun, long before you came into the picture.

The door swung open. Jin’s face emerged, morphing instantly from hostility to relief when he saw you.

Then his eyes moved down, and lingered on your clasped hands.

If you weren’t mistaken, a faint smirk lifted his mouth, but he closed his lips matter-of-factly and forced it away. Only a telltale raise of his eyebrows made you chew your lip as he let you both past him and inside.

A murky corridor led to another sturdy door, and then you were in a larger room. It was bare of furniture, the most notable features the peeling paint and a threadbare carpet lining the space. The walls either side of you sported large windows, but the curtains remained drawn; Yoongi could be the only explanation for the room being fully lit regardless. There were no bulbs in the fixtures.

Something in your chest loosened at the sight of your whole team gathered inside. Everyone had got here before you. Namjoon was pacing in the centre. Hobi slumped against the far wall, Jimin beside him, clothes bloody but a beaming smile on his face.

At the clunk of the door, Namjoon whirled around, finally stopping his impatient strides.

All eyes fell on you. A similar reaction to Jin’s outside swept the room. Reluctantly, you and Jungkook let your fingers slide apart, although you shifted a little closer to him.

Namjoon’s stare, intense and unreadable as always, left you in such suspense that you had to look away. Unfortunately, it brought you eye-to-eye with Jimin, who was being the least subtle of them all. His cheeks were plump with the force of his smile, and he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

You bit back your own grin.

Namjoon, for his part, shook his head and resolved to ignore it. Or deal with it later, at least.

“What did you guys do?”

Or maybe not. Clamping your mouth shut, your eyes widened a fraction. What were you supposed to tell him?

“We, uh-” Jungkook stammered out, before Namjoon pinched his brow.

“I mean with the monster that attacked us,” he cut you off.

You sighed in relief.

“Oh, that…” Jungkook laughed, sheepish.

In three brusque strides, Namjoon marched closer, towards an old television in the corner behind you. A red glow surrounded it as he rapped on the top, and then images flickered to life on the screen.

Blue lights and smoke washed over vehicles rammed haphazardly into a street. Your street.

You didn’t bother reading the fast-scrolling banner below the picture, letting the voiceover fill you in.

“Reports were made of Bolt heading to stop a creature, which he claimed to have escaped from within an operating villain base…” the reporter read, “but on arrival, the beast appears to have been tamed. No damage was sustained to surrounding properties, and a team is working to sedate and control it…”

The screen flashed to a blurry close-up of Frank as you had left him, snoring among the wreckage.

“How the hell did you stop it?” Namjoon demanded, the device blinking back to silence as he turned back to you and Jungkook.

“Well, Y/N, um…” Jungkook gestured for you to take over.

“It’s one of Kuyang’s,” you explained, “there’s this patch behind his ear, it sends him right to sleep. It’s just… a bit difficult to get to.”

“That thing has ears?” Jin echoed.

Namjoon folded his arms and took in the both of you.

“Good work, then. That was lucky. At least it’s lessened some of what Bolt’s trying to pin on us. But this was more than a simple attack.”

He paced again to the centre of the room.

“Bolt doesn’t act on accident; he’s showed us that much. He tried to take us out directly today. He wants to eradicate us. That’s his message, and it’s final. He’ll keep coming for us until one side is destroyed.”

His words bristled around the room, but not with fear. You sensed the rage and determination you shared with your brothers.

You weren’t backing down.

If Bolt was going to make it us vs them, you would just have to win that fight.

Turning, Namjoon met eyes with Jin, who stepped forward to stand beside him.

“At least we know what Bolt has at his disposal,” Jin said, “and what he doesn’t. We know the weapons we’re up against, so I think we can take on any fighters he sends our way. What really counts is the man himself.”

“We’re going to him, right?” Yoongi spoke from his place leaning against the curtain. “I don’t want to wait for him to come after us again. He wants the fight; we make it on our terms.”

Regarding him seriously, Namjoon nodded.

Meanwhile, Jin’s words were stirring something else in your mind. Something you had forgotten in the blur of defeat and panic that had ensued since your fight with Monsoon.

We know what weapons we’re up against…

“Wait,” you breathed. It was enough to snag the group’s attention, tense gazes all finding you. Closest was Jungkook, frowning down at you.

You gulped, and met their eyes.

“When I went after Monsoon,” you began, “I found the shield ray, even if I didn’t get hold of it. But that wasn’t all… He had a collection. And I recognised another one, too. I thought I had burned it up, in the parking lot, but there was another one.”

You had to admit that some nerves crept in at the unsettled silence that followed. Namjoon stared.

“No…” he shook his head, “you’re saying they have the Razer?”

“The one that takes your powers…” you replied, “yes.”

Namjoon swore.

“You definitely destroyed it?”

“Without a doubt,” Jungkook cut in, “I felt the shockwaves in that fight.”

You nodded along with him. Namjoon wasn’t asking to doubt you, though, and took you at your word. You had seen the broken, lifeless shell of that awful gun. No, they had gained another somehow.

“They must have got hold of a blueprint, or a prototype, somehow,” Jin suggested.

“However they did it, it’s best we know what we’re going up against,” Namjoon resolved. He looked around, meeting everyone’s eyes. “You all know what it looks like?”

Nods met him.

“Then watch your backs. We’re still doing this.”

“What was it like?”

By now, you were acquainted with the view from this spot, sitting against the wall in a corner of this place. But how different had it been, when the boys still lived here?

“Hm?”

Jungkook turned to you, resting his head back against the wall. The two of you sat not far from the others, all of you sitting around waiting for Hobi to heal up and for Jin to get whatever results he was hoping for from a beat-up laptop he had pulled from somewhere. You had no idea if he had brought it with him, found it in here, or stolen it. You wouldn’t ask, either.

Though the room was wide open now, you still sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Jungkook like you had in that cramped hallway. It was difficult to keep the same feeling at bay too. His presence lit you up where you touched, but in front of the others you had to keep up some semblance of sanity, and keep from pouncing on him.

“When you first came here,” you forced your eyes away from his softly quirked lips, and to the room. “What was it like?”

To your dismay, his brows pinched into a frown. He eyed the walls, traced them up to the ceiling with its patches of damp.

He shifted his arm against yours in a shrug.

“It was a roof over my head,” he murmured, “at first.”

“Oh,” you stammered, quiet in your shock, “sorry…”

With a blink and a shake of his head, you watched him pull himself back to you. He shot you a disarmingly genuine smile, albeit small.

“Not your fault,” he assured you, “I never told you.”

Instantly, you knew what he was talking about. Just like you, Jungkook must have first moved in after he got his powers. Of course, the balm of the support from (most of) the others had eventually smoothed over the wounds that heralded your arrival.

They wouldn’t be forgotten though.

Nor would you forget your brothers’ wounds. Jungkook had yet to entrust you with his story, the knowledge of those probably painful moments. He had hardly let you near it, all this time.

“You don’t have to-” you said hastily, but he surprised you.

You spotted his jaw tighten, but his voice was level.

“After my dad… I had nothing. The first time I met Namjoon, I didn’t have powers. I did a job for him. I used to steal; it was about the only thing I could do. My dad taught me to fight, once, after he was home late and some older kids tried to break into our place. I fell in with a certain crowd, but half of them were backstabbing sneaks.”

You weren’t sure he even knew he was scowling as he said that. Despite your horror, you couldn’t break your gaze away from Jungkook as he told the story, spelling out what you had always wondered.

He looked over to Namjoon then, snarl easing.

“I guess he thought I was good. He gave me more jobs, paid good money. It wasn’t one of his where it happened. We were taking some kind of reactor – I can hardly remember the plan. Someone wanted power out to rob a string of banks, I think… All that matters is it went wrong. It wasn’t safe, and it… blew up.”

Your chest tightened along with his voice, hearing him straining to keep his throat from closing.

He slumped back against the wall then. Fixed his eyes on yours.

“I got the brunt of it. Two of the others died. One of them ran away when I woke up and asked him to help me. And there was this… this burning I didn’t understand…”

“I remember,” you whispered.

Slowly, he closed his lips. His eyes bled with recognition. You felt it too, conflict constricting your chest. Appreciation that you could share the feeling, understand one another without the need for explanation, mingled with the strain in your heart of knowing he had been subjected to the same torture.

Here you both were, on the other side of it.

Jungkook took a bracing breath, shifted up where he had sagged down the wall – towards you.

“Namjoon found me.”

His voice brightened almost immediately, and he was looking around the room with new eyes of the old memories.

“V came along not too long after I did… It was the boys that made it home. They still do.”

A soft smile took your lips without thought, and you followed his gaze fondly.

The moment your eyes fell on Jin, you saw him perk up, straightening his back. Then he let out a cheerful “Aha!”.

He was the centre of attention that instant, and went on without prompting, fingers still clacking away at the laptop.

“I managed to get into our own system – and Bolt’s taken something!”

“And that’s… good?” you questioned his jubilant tone.

Keeping his eyes trained on the screen, he quirked his head.

“It means I can see where he’s taking it.”

Namjoon came to hover over Jin’s shoulder until they were satisfied. Soon enough, you found yourself refreshing the mental list of what you were about to go up against.

“If he even manages to get it up and running before we get there, it only has three charges per round. This is the first time I’m glad I haven’t improved it yet,” Jin chuckled, telling you about the newest addition to Bolt’s arsenal, the one he took right from your lab. “Jungkook or YN’s powers will take it out easily.”

And so he went on, through power-extending shurikens to the shield rifle Monsoon had stolen, all the things that had slipped through your fingers and how to defeat them.

“And the Razer…” Jin landed on the last one, but tailed off and exchanged a look with Namjoon.

“Just don’t get hit,” the leader said.

Several eyebrows raised in trepidation. You shuddered with an echoing memory of the gun’s piercing cold.

“Hobi,” Namjoon turned away from the subject, “how are you healing up?”

Shifting to sit away from the wall, Hope pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal the skin where Frank had slashed him. It was still pink, but completely closed by now.

“Better,” he beamed.

“Okay,” Namjoon fixed him with a stern eye, “but check in. If it’s putting you at a disadvantage, I want you out of there.”

“Yes boss,” Hobi replied with a grin and a mock salute.

From that alone, you were sure he was feeling better.

“I say” – Jin shut the laptop with a clack – “we’ve waited long enough.”

You couldn’t help but agree. It felt good to get on your feet again. Inside your chest, the warmth of your powers bubbled alongside your bristling determination. Just enough for you to feel them, to assure you.

A private smile stole across your face, and you turned towards Jungkook.

He found you first. A gentle touch on your wrist made you glance down. His thumb ran firmly, softly, over the skin there, and when you looked up his eyes were dark and affirming.

You realised then, that his defensive ring of fire had never burnt away. You were only on the other side of it, one of the ones he accepted in. His look was one of complete trust. When he nodded, you nodded back.

Let’s do this.

Having been inside for some time, the lot of you know marched out to find it night, the city drenched in the darkness of who-knew-what hour. Your ‘march’ was actually more of a light-footed sneaking. Setting off any alarm bells just yet would blow the operation. Together, your group wove through shadows out of this part of town, unnoticed thanks to the camouflage Yoongi effortlessly provided.

Up ahead, Jin checked around corners and led you on, the buildings rising further above you at every turn. Neon screens flashed through the night in these neighbourhoods, where the inhabitants had money to spare.

The walk couldn’t have been long, but you were a world away from the run-down hideout by the time Jin stopped, facing one of many high buildings of polished glass and chrome.

“So this is it?” Jimin asked, head tilting back.

Your eyes, instead of trailing up the building like Jimin’s, found a looming structure beside it. A pylon planted firm in the ground, standing just taller than the building itself, up to a spidery convergence of wires webbed over the city rooves.

“Well, that sure is handy for someone like him,” Jin scoffed.

Hobi rolled his neck, already striding towards it.

“And now it’s handy for us.”

His leap up three rungs was unnecessary, really. The rest of you followed behind like the mere mortals you were, clambering as silently as you could between the intersecting beams, the metal cold beneath your hands.

You looked back once, finding Namjoon and Jin still on the ground.

“I’ll see you afterwards,” Namjoon was telling him grimly, “all of us have to fight.”

“I know,” Jin agreed. Then he punched him in the arm. “And I had better, alright? See you afterwards, I mean.”

Your leader nodded, then stepped forward to the pylon. You looked ahead and pushed on upwards.

It shouldn’t have surprised you to find Bolt in a penthouse. Following the others, you hopped from the pylon onto the skyscraper’s rooftop; only Namjoon stayed behind. It wasn’t so tall as Kuyang’s lab had been, but it felt miles above. In the darkness, a few glimmering lights dotted the edges of what appeared to be an eerie garden of sorts, although no plants were in sight. Dark tile slabs ran underfoot, broken up by sculptures you couldn’t discern beyond shadows.

The rooftop was halved, your group gathering on the lower segment while a set of stairs rose another floor to more of the same; Bolt’s viewpoint over the city. Though your eyes darted between the statues, each one playing tricks on you as if they were people watching, your gaze rested eventually on two large glass doors beside the stairway.

A distant light from further inside showed just enough for you to see beyond the glass. An entire wall was decked in little plates, things you vaguely recognised as city awards, only seen on the screens and papers.

A trophy for each life Bolt had taken would have filled the whole building, let alone a feature wall, you thought.

The small huddle of you poised still, hunters, waiting. In the last few seconds before that silence would be broken, you felt Jungkook step behind you.

“This ends now.”

The voice coming over your shoulder was made of everything he was. Electricity, cold and bitter like metal, aflame with determination. The rows, fists and shouting, the tentative midnight whispers, his kisses.

His hurt and all the things he covered it with.

Namjoon didn’t even have to ask his soldiers if they were ready. He raised his arms and slammed palms back down against metal, and a red glow silhouetted you all like a sinister halo.

Everything went dark.

The meagre light inside the property blinked off. The glare of signs across the road plunged away to nothing. Only the dotted perimeter lights, which must run on for emergencies, remained.

Footsteps behind you brought Namjoon through the pack to its head.

Ahead, something moved beyond the glass. Your gaze sharpened on it as the handle turned, the door swinging soundlessly outwards.

While not in full gear, as he had been when he first attacked you, Bolt’s blue mask was in place. Otherwise, he wore dark, comfortable clothes. Internally, you celebrated the small evidence that you really had caught him unawares.

“I should have known,” his voice carried over to you, inflated with arrogance. “Flush out the rats and they’ll have nowhere left to run.”

In your ear, a sharp inhale sent your eyes to Jungkook for a second. His fists tightened at his sides.

“You’ve taken enough, Bolt,” Namjoon spoke. If you didn’t know him, you may not have caught the dark rage burning below his even words.

Then he raised his arms, stretched them towards the man in blue.

A great gust whisked from behind you, snatching at your hair, but you stood firm. In front of you, Bolt was thrown backwards by the air, colliding with the glass behind him.

The starting gun had been fired.

As your enemy crashed through a shower of glass, you began to run. Shards of it scattered, glittering, under your pounding feet. You skidded to the doorway just as Bolt drew back to his feet in the shadows.

Raising your arms to continue the offensive, you were cut short. A startling flash blazed in your vision. In that split-second, it illuminated a smiling Bolt, gun ready at his hip. Just long enough for your heart to sink.

The shield rifle, the very one you had failed to protect.

It seemed only right that you should pay the price.

Its impact slammed against you, wrenching your outstretched arm backwards. The pale sphere it had fired, glowing and crackling, caught hold and took you with it, ensnaring your wrist like a constricting snake. Helpless to detach yourself, your body flailed through the air behind it.

Someone called your name.

Just as fast, you jerked to a stop. Below you, your feet flung out above nothing. Your heart jumped.

Looking around wildly, you found the forcefield had snagged on the wall, stuck fast to it just like it did your arm. It was the only thing holding you here.

Somewhere behind you, above you, grunts and thuds assured you that the fight continued. For now, you had to get out of this trap before Bolt could reach you again, attack you in this helpless position.

“Y/N!”

Jimin’s voice rushed closer. It was an effort to crane your head up to see him. Pale pink hair poked over the ledge.

“Grab on!” he called.

You didn’t hesitate. Swinging yourself up with a kick, you grabbed desperately for the hand he reached out. Finding it clumsily, you clutched to his wrist with clammy fingers. Next moment, he hauled you up, clamping both hands around yours until you rolled over the wall and your feet stumbled against solid ground.

But you still weren’t free.

The forcefield bit at your arm when you tried to drag it free. You cursed.

“It’s just energy,” Jimin spoke, frowning at the luminescent mass.

Then he took a breath, frowning in concentration. With one push of his hand, the sphere shifted, as if it was simply a ball from training.

Resisting, you pulled the other way. For a second, it constricted harder, making your heart clench in dread of following it. Then all at once you were falling free, tumbling to the floor as the forcefield rolled out of sight over the edge.

Hurried hands tugged you up and you were wheeling around to face the battle.

“Thanks,” you quickly clapped Jimin on the shoulder. A brief grin from him, and you dived together back towards the fray.

More shining energy fields pulsed against one wall, but it seemed the others had dodged them. You ran past the discarded weapon on the floor. But there were more where it had come from.

A bright blue jet, just like your own, fizzled against a statue and sent it thundering to the floor. Behind it, Yoongi leapt out of the way just in time. He came sprinting towards Bolt, eyes burning white.

In an instant, the hero let out a yell, clutching his eyes. Staggering, he slipped onto one knee. But in his blind panic, he whirled around, lashing out again even without a target to aim at.

Blazing blue roared outwards. Namjoon had been marching towards the fallen Bolt, but was forced to duck for cover. The lightning sliced clean through the top of the stone figure he hid behind.

Even as Bolt’s attack died, something else caught your eye. Fast as a spark from a flame, he tossed a blade into the air. It whistled, carving a streak of seething blue through the night.

A shout shot echoed across the rooftop, straight to your veins. Yoongi.

Falling from his invisible cloak of darkness, you saw a glowing blue shuriken whizz along his back. The current flew outwards across his body, throwing his pained grimace into haunting relief. The blade skittered, useless, to the ground, having wreaked its injury.

“Yoongi!” you screamed as he fell, blue light dancing over his spasming body.

Staring in horror as you were, the next flash of blue nearly caught you. Running on pure instinct, your body retaliated before you did. Snarling, your powers leapt from your palms, clashing against Bolt’s in mid-air. Blue on blue.

In the flare of sparks, Bolt smiled slowly. Never breaking the connection, he took a step forwards, cocking his head.

“So it’s true,” he spoke, “I heard about you.”

Heart hammering now, you pushed back with all your might, feeling his hostile powers wrestle with yours. They may look the same, but they felt all wrong.

“Tell me,” he took a step closer. You barely resisted the urge to draw back. “How did you do this?”

Steeling yourself with a breath, you unleashed a surge of rage, your electricity hissing through the air. It should have satisfied you to feel his power startle, stutter at the sudden attack.

All you could do was glare. He had no idea. He never thought twice about who he killed, what he took.

But as you stared, there was movement behind him. It was all you could do to keep your eyes on Bolt, willing his attention to stay on you. As it was, he had no idea that Jungkook was stalking towards him.

“I didn’t do this,” you blurted out, needing to keep him focussed. Buying Jungkook time as his face came into sharper focus, closer to the battling blue lights between you and Bolt. “You did this to me.”

You spat your words with all the venom locked inside, ready for one last push as you watched Jungkook raise both arms-

WHOOSH.

You snapped the connection, staggering backwards as Bolt whirled around.

It had not been gold that fired. In a blur, Jungkook was slammed to the ground by a column of water crashing into him.

Everyone on the rooftop turned to its source.

“Shit-” you heard someone curse.

“No,” you breathed.

Feet touching to the rooftop up ahead, among a flood of water, was Monsoon.

Another cold, arrogant grin met you all. You stared in horror. Only Bolt laughed, stepping forwards to climb to his ally’s side. They faced you all from the staircase, looking down.

Pushing himself to his feet, Jungkook’s eyes blazed gold beneath dripping strands of hair.

“Jungkook! No!” you cried, but too late.

Gold split the night, but against Monsoon there was no use. Water surged instantly towards him again, and though your powers protested, burning in your chest with the need to act, you could only stand by. You couldn’t fight him.

Shimmering water engulfed the gold strands. Soon they would immobilise Jungkook, the moment it made contact…

Instead, a red glow sprung up in front of Jungkook with only a split-second to spare, sending the deluge spraying around the shield.

“Let’s start with you, then,” Monsoon smirked.

When you looked back to him, you swore your heart stopped beating.

Raised in one hand, pointing straight at Jungkook, was the Razer. Its eerie white form stood out starkly against the night sky.

The dead white light at its centre jumped to life. A whirring began, menacing and low. It rose at the same rate the strands of light started spinning within the sphere, preparing to drain its victim of all power.

It was stupid. It was stupid, you had already failed once before. You had watched Jungkook fail just seconds ago. There was nothing you could do, yet you had to do something.

You fired at Monsoon.

Easily, he raised his free hand to deflect.

But as the water rushed towards you, Jimin sprinted towards Monsoon. Thrusting an arm forward, he sent a fallen statue flying between you, a silhouette. Your eyes widened in realisation.

The inundation hit the stone with such force, you almost thought it would crack. But no – it sent the writhing water shooting straight back at its commander.

Darting forward, you shot without hesitation. Blue burst from you. The bright tendrils wove into the stream, flying like darts through the current and towards Monsoon. There was no time for him to react; only a fleeting shadow of shock stole over his face before the electricity caught him and his eyes rolled back.

You knew how it felt for your muscles to lock in place, for your body to leave your control entirely. You watched as it took hold of him, too, and smiled.

The force of the water, with no way to resist it, knocked him backwards until the floor no longer held him. A blond blur flew past you, just before the white-clad figure that was Monsoon dropped out of sight forever.

Lowering your palms, your chest heaved. Adrenaline rushed through you; this still wasn’t over.

Your eyes narrowed in on Hobi, whose feet made impact with the roof on landing. Clutched in his arms was the Razer, scooped from Monsoon’s arms just in time.

Bolt, apparently, had got over his ally’s demise already. His grief lasted the space of one step, away from the edge, before he swung round. Like you, he honed straight in on the weapon.

And then everyone moved at once.

Diving out of the path of a sinister blue bolt, Hobi rolled away on the floor. Bolt himself thudded closer, making your friend dodge again, leaping up and out of his reach. The air crackled by Bolt’s hand, but before he could summon electricity to chase Hobi down, a sheet of purple fire swept like a curtain in front of him, the fleeting shadow of V disappearing within the flames.

You were already sprinting at the enemy when Hobi touched down next to you. Stumbling around, he glanced behind him with a curse.

Confused, your eyes first darted over your friend. He didn’t seem to be more hurt, so then what-?

A clatter of metal rung through the spitting flames. Frantically searching, you quickly found the deathly white streak of the Razer on the ground, spinning away. In the desperate fumble to escape Bolt, Hobi must have dropped it.

It didn't matter how it got there. Darting to the side, you changed course towards the weapon. But you weren’t the only pursuer.

Bolt was a silhouette in front of the fire, growing rapidly in the corner of your vision. Your feet thudded as fast as you could make them, heart pounding out the same rhythm, and you were almost there, but Bolt was coming in fast-

A flash of blue. Instinctively, you pulled back, letting it cut through the air in front of your nose. Precious distance you couldn’t afford to waste.

Throwing your weight back further, you followed your body’s momentum. Your hip met the tile and you let your speed carry you, sliding over the tiles and kicking out-

Your toes met the weapon hard, snatching it from right under Bolt’s fingertips as he lunged down. His furious glare shifted to you, but he did not stay to fight. Both of you watched, panting, as the white gun hurtled over the staircase, resounding against each step out of sight.

Then Bolt was off again with you not far behind, jumping to your feet. Stairs flew beneath you as you surveyed the scene.

Bolt charged a decisive line towards the still-falling gun. Namjoon, Jimin and Jungkook assembled on the lower part of the rooftop, ready to strike.

With relief, you saw Jimin move first. Raising one hand, he brought the gun arcing through the night. Though you kept running, something loosened in your chest the closer it came to the hands of your leader.

So focussed on the gun as you were, you almost missed it. Just as the Razer landed firmly in Namjoon’s grip, something glinted in Bolt’s hand, inches ahead of you.

A sizzle of blue. Another shuriken sliced through the air. Namjoon dodged to one side, the blade sailing past him, a spark of blue losing itself in the darkness of the city.

But another blade followed.

Namjoon clearly decided not to hang around. The low whirring began again, piercing your senses straight away as if it was a chainsaw roaring. White light pounced against the glass containing it. Close as you were to Bolt, you couldn’t help the jolt of nerves fizzling in your chest.

Lifting his gaze from the weapon, Namjoon’s eyes widened a fraction. There wasn’t enough time to react. The blue lightning raced straight for his heart.

The image of Yoongi, stricken and fallen, flashed through your mind then. Helplessness burned through every part of you – even as you pushed yourself to sprint, there was no catching it.

Until a shadow leapt in the way. Obscuring your view of Namjoon, they turned in mid-air to face the shuriken.

Jungkook.

Your heart punched into your throat. In a single beat, the blade found its target.

A twitch of pain spasmed across Jungkook’s face. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t move. Your trembling heart choked you, the world falling silent for a deathly second.

Then his feet thumped onto the roof, the clatter of the thin blade following a beat later. Though he stumbled against the outer wall, he remained standing. Utter, blank shock painted on his face, he brought a hand up to his chest.

There, a thin red line was spreading where he had been cut. Nothing more.

Heart still hanging on a precipice, you were suspended in your shock. Numbly, you glanced down to the still-spinning shuriken lying powerless on the floor. Powerless. No more sparks surrounded it. No hint of blue, no colour at all.

Where a heartbeat ago there had been panic, now came no movement at all. Your lungs ached for air after your short race, but you hardly dared to touch the silence by breathing. Shakily, you drew in cool air, turning, as you all did, towards Bolt.

Standing in front of the shattered entrance to his home, he was equally still.

You expected some kind of joke. For him to laugh in your faces, or lash out again.

Instead, he looked down in horror. His hands steadily rose, tuning over in front of him. A downwards turn tugged at his mouth when he raised his face.

Then it turned into a snarl, and he lunged, flinging a hand straight towards you. Everyone on the rooftop jumped.

To your shame, you almost stepped back. Phantom burning, from months ago as you fell from a skyscraper like this one, rocketed through your mind. But the pain you braced for never came. No flash of blue. You stayed rooted there, disbelieving eyes tracing the air which should have been ablaze, and instead was dead and dark.

And you noticed another thing: the whirring had stopped.

Glancing to one side, you saw Namjoon lowering the Razer, face hard and a grim glint in his eye.

“You!”

Bolt’s voice brought you sharply back to him. His mouth twisted into a snarl, and his voice was sharp.

To your alarm, his rage-filled eyes, though devoid of blue, were fixed right on you.

“Give them back to me! Right now!”

With a sudden start, he marched towards you. You actually stepped back this time, in no hurry to be the target of his new warpath.

“You- I gave you those powers!” He ranted, “My powers! You can give them back to me the same way. Do it now!”

Disgusted, you could only shake your head.

Another step and he was right in front of you, reaching for you. That same face which hadn’t looked at you twice when he sent you hurtling to your intended death. The man that had since become the face of your elusive fear, sending others to attack you, never getting his hands dirty unless for a media-worthy cause.

His hand on your arm made your skin crawl.

“I made you what you were,” he pleaded – you saw it now for what it was – “you were nothing before I gave them to you-”

“Get off me!” you snapped, yanking your arm roughly from his grip. When he made to reach for you again, you barely kept control of your powers. You were sure to let just enough slip through that your eyes would light up blue with a reminder.

It clearly found its mark. He stilled, stunned. He had never been in this position before, unable to fight, and he would do well to remember it.

“I was someone before you,” you spoke, low and level.

Bolt seemed robbed of words.

Then his glare flicked to the side. Jungkook stalked up to stand beside you, drawing himself up to his full height. There was a special venom in his eyes, reserved only for the man who had ruined his life.

“Don’t touch her,” he spat.

Something in Bolt snapped. Closing his mouth, his feet scrambled beneath him. He hurried in the opposite direction, staggering a few desperate steps backwards before wheeling around, racing to get inside.

You didn’t move. Any one of you could easily kill him from where you stood – in any case, it wasn’t needed.

Someone was waiting for him.

Stepping from the dark hallway, broken glass crunching underfoot, Jin emerged into the dim light of the rooftop.

He reared back a fist, and brought it down in a blur to collide with Bolt’s face. The moment the fallen hero hit the ground, Jungkook strode forwards. Bolt’s usually vivid mask was finally dislodged, lying dull against the tiles where Jungkook’s boot crushed it against the floor.

Calmly lifting a hand, he fired gold, but not right at Bolt. Instead, you watched the molten light latch around a large shard of glass. The burning ring made dappled gold ripple in the glass, a golden dagger, the brightest thing on this dark rooftop.

Unsteadily, Bolt was getting his hands beneath him again. His ragged panting almost stirred pity in your chest. Almost.

Jungkook pushed his palm forwards, his power moving with him. The dagger struck Bolt’s back. You did not smile, but watched as it plunged ruthlessly into him, making his back arch and drawing a pitiful cry from his mouth.

No one was around to hear it, or to care. Tonight was as desolate as the night you had woken, alone and afraid, in a dark alley, left to die.

It wasn’t painless, but it was quick. Looking to Jungkook as Bolt fell silent, you found his hardened face awash with gold, like it was made of the metal itself. Only the twitch of his jaw as he yanked the glass from its victim belied the impression.

A thump as the body slumped among a soft chorus of grating glass.

The gold faded from Jungkook’s eyes. They turned to you, and you took his hand.

Thank you for reading this far into the series and sticking with it!!💜💜

taglist: @aianloveseven @preciouschimine @written-in-flowers @taegularities @dvalities

@parapiop7 @taiwan0618 @11thenightwemet11 @junniesoleilkth @doctorquack

@oddinary4bts @svnbangtansworld @ktownshizzle @minisugakoobies @jksusawife

@kokoandkookie @veemegatron @kookxin @seokout @jkayy

@peaaachpit @stxrrielle @welcometomyworld13 @ssexsellls @ramicherie

@jk5t4r @purplebeebs @nanjeonlangakook @wifflepuff1344 @ot7stansthings

@thesmeraldogirl @fr0ggieth1nk

#jungkook x reader #jungkook au #jungkook angst #jungkook mafia #jungkook enemies to lovers #bts enemies to lovers #jungkook series #jungkook fluff #bts mafia au #jeongguk x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic #jeongguk scenarios

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butchdiaz · 6 months ago

Text

tagged by @iinryer to do a 2024 fic roundup but i'm adding my videos in too because. uh. its fun to look back! and i want to!

MARCH

american teenager (36s)

my first ever commission! for my best friend bia! to this day i hear do what you want (do more!) everytime i listen to this song.

APRIL

arms (1:02)

this was for seti. and it hurt.

good luck babe! (1:11)

literally never felt euphoria the same since the week of bi buck when i made this. changed the timeline. (although i was so euphoric and excited to post that i cropped in a rush and left a little white line in one of the shots and it pisses me off massively to this day. yes im a virgo thanks for asking)

to open up my arms and give it all to you (2.5k)

my little buck coming out to chris fic with hints of buddie <3 bi buck got me writing again after months of literal Nothing. god bless

one of your girls (3:09)

kirby's vision went OFF. so proud of this one like. its gotta be one of my favs and i feel like it became a bit of a butchdiaz classic which makes me so happy :D

MAY

kill her freak out (1:33)

this video is my little baby. ohhh samia. ouaagh eddie.

scared of my guitar (2:23)

shoutout to the way the dialogue syncs up in this one. rly satisfying to me hehehe. honestly didn't think i'd like this one as much as i do but she hits hard

promise (1:15)

love when people commission me to edit songs im already currently obsessing over yay!!!!!

JUNE

happy to be here (2:16)

julien baker. eddie diaz. aka abby had a mental breakdown making this one.

closed hands, full of friends (45s)

this was my first time editing a song i had Never heard beforehand! 3 cheers for finding new music!!

JULY

l'amour de ma vie (3:26)

ok not to toot my own horn but. this one is good. i feel like i really told a story u know. and about now is when i started to play around with fun/more intricate text ooh ooooh

a burning hill (1:01)

this prompt was designed in a lab to kill me specifically. i wanted to do the whole song originally but i like. could not go on.

my ego dies at the end (2:49)

i reallyyyy like this one. long edits my beloved! i love to build to something. i rewatch this one often tbh. jensen mcrae is everythinggg

AUGUST

north star (2:16)

again, had never heard this song b4 i got this prompt and it got me obsessed with this searows album. this edit makes me feel all soft. rly loved incorporating fleabag into it bc like. fleabag for life. shoutout summerofbuddie for the inspo

feels like (58s)

this song has been on my buddie playlist(s) forever so i was So excited to get this prompt. it was so fun to make something. not depressing and just like. fluffy. fun fact i hand drew all the hearts for this in ps and they were such a pain to work with but i really love how it turned out cause i'd never done anything like that before :')

pink balloon (2:29)

finally made a proper buck amv. after so many eddie ones it was actually nice to switch it up. felt re-inspired! also always so inspired by samia ugh. i am an eddiegirl literally to my bones tho so this was both v hard and v fun to make.

SEPTEMBER

"i want a divorce" / "it was a date" (2:19)

the buckshannon parallels ouuugughhh. this was one of those ones that haunted me so persistently i literally was forced to make it. saw hanna's post and then blacked out and i was posting this.

had a feeling i could be someone (3k)

leave tonight or live and die this way (1.1k)

dyke buddie!!!!!!!! these fics are sooooo near and dear to my heart. i love to make everyone wlw! i love to project my butchness onto my fav characters! wrote these so fast (for me) like writing has Never flown out of me like that. i was possessed by the spirit of lesbianism. and. GOD. the response to these fics also makes me want to cry daily. the beautiful art that was created?????? for me and my little fic?????????? i actually can't believe it i love you guys so much. lesbians forever and ever and ever.

did it to myself (1:11)

another one of my favs. i think it slaps so hard tbh. i tried a lot of new stuff and it was so FUN. orla's music is so much fun to edit to i need to do another one of her songs asap.

afraid of heights (2:46)

boygenius wrote this for my friend buck buckley. got entirely consumed by this one. thank u han for being my buckafraidofheights warrior for life <3

headlock (2:23)

i love buck but i remember coming back to making an eddie amv and breathing a sigh of relief. i just Get him. its so easy. this one's underrated i think oop it kinda slaps

OCTOBER

savior complex (3:16)

this one was a rly good challenge and idek why. super happy with how it turned out though i like watching it back

NOVEMBER

funeral bell (2:54)

the buck thesis statement. to me. and such a crazy unique process. loved working w kaitlin on this one and sending her 10 million drafts (she rly got a behind the scenes tour yall and it was not pretty). this was an absolute BEAST to make despite it not even being that complicated. i think i just cared so much about making it perfect for my dear friend who trusted me with her visions and inspiration and that made it all the more special!

you get your dreams for free (14.8k)

drunk cuddling!!!!!!!! my longest fic i've posted to date and i fully thought i was never gonna finish it. i abandoned this last YEAR but im SO glad i came back to it and most of the reason for that is because of the absolutely lovely responses to my earlier fics this year <3 literally hilarious to me that i originally wanted to post this on halloween 2023. abby. abby no.

surrender my heart! (1:30)

post-confessions euphoria + a carly rae jepsen prompt? i was literally in heaven. SURRENDER UR HEART EDDIEEEEEEEEE

DECEMBER

every place leads back to your place (2.1k)

music inspires me soooo much (looks up at this post. no way right.) so i absolutely loved writing based off a song! and a chappell song nonetheless!! so fun to twist a breakup song around to fit Them. i particularly love the kiss in this one <3

oldie's station (3:17)

phew we're almost there! this one is recent but lowkey it feels like another classic to me already. i really really like it. making it felt like cooking a three course meal and watching it kinda feels like eating one :D (thank god) (i spent so many hours in that kitchen)

letter to god (1974) (2:27)

letter to god (1983) (1:52)

putting these together bc they are sister songs and sister videos. first time in my life i've worked on two videos at once. it was fun because they kind of grew together and influenced each other very directly. not fun because i ran out of space and my laptop crashed. several times. these felt rly indulgent and raw. kind of shocking to me how perfect both songs feel for both of them. had a lot of fun messing with the voice/video filters to try and place these in their respective eras bc im obsessed with that aspect of the songs. halsey's artistry is crazy yall if u havent listened to her newest album GO. NOW.

the rush of slumber party kissing (3.2k)

posted this literally yesterday lol. also my first time writing smut. somehow. scary! but i did giggle all the way through writing this tbh. when buddie reveal their true nature as silly teenage girls >>>>>>>>>>

SPECIAL SHOUTOUT

fleabag au wip, who saw the light of day again this year. she could be finished in six months or six more years, but she Will be finished. im determined!

ok if u read all that uh. wow congrats fhdhhdh im gonna get sappy for JUST A SEC now cause uh. im actually blown away by the support and love and appreciation this fandom has shown me this past year. you guys have given me so much confidence in my skills as both an editor and a writer and you also quite literally helped me pay my rent. by making videos about gay firefighters. its actually kind of mind blowing to me how lucky i am and i never want to take that for granted <3

to anyone who has commissioned me, or sent me a prompt, or left a comment on a fic, or a tag on a video, or sent me a kind ask, or subscribed to me, or followed me, or reblogged anything of mine this year: thank you.

im so grateful for this little community and all the friends and connections i have made through our collective insanity over a procedural drama on abc (neé fox). yall rock so hard.

tagging @userbuddie @chronicowboy @confessionseddie @try-set-me-on-fire @userautumn @lovelettered @exhuastedpigeon @sibylsleaves @saryasy @team-118 @lemmeaskthedevil @eddiebabygirldiaz if u wanna do any sort of yearly roundup!

#this is. CRAZY seeing it all laid out like that. thats so much. wtf abby #they speak #wrapped

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moremaybank · 2 years ago

Note

jj x john b’s little sister will always have a special place in my heart. Especially when she’s been pining over him since they were kids, the built up tension, the way they act like a couple but they’re not, ugh!

no bc this is my favourite trope with jj 😭 it's just so fitting and honestly nothing hits like a good brother's best friend trope (at least for me)

You were lying in bed, mindlessly scrolling through your phone when you hear your front door open, followed by the clunking of heavy shoes against the hardwood floors as they walked their way through your home.

At first, you panicked. Was this it? Were you about to get murdered in the comfort of your own home, warm and cozy in your bed? But then it clicked. There was only one person you knew who had loud footsteps like that. He had messy blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, a cheeky grin. He was most likely wearing one of his worn out cut-offs, and black timberland boots.

Those staple shoes of his were definitely the culprit.

Your doorknob twisted open slowly, and there JJ was. Stumbling into your room with a hazy smile on his face. He tripped over his foot upon entry, leading him to kick his boots off clumsily.

"J, what the hell are you doing? I thought you were Freddy Krueger or something, jeez."

He plopped onto your bed, using one hand to pluck your phone from your hand and toss it to the other side of your bed. He laid between your legs, resting his head against your stomach and wrapping his arms around your waist.

Butterflies erupted in your stomach instantly. Being this close and cozy wasn't new for the two of you; you'd been touchy since you were kids. Endless piggyback rides, cuddling sessions during movie nights, playing with each other's hair, that was just the two of you in your normal state. That's what happens when you've known someone since you were in elementary school.

"Hi," he murmured, nuzzling into you as he got comfy. "You smell good."

Your brows furrowed as you held back a laugh. "Are you drunk?"

"No." A moment of silence passed, and then he spoke up again. "Maybe."

"Okay, and where's my brother?"

"Ditched me for his kook girlfriend."

You hummed in response, starting to weave your fingers through his sun-kissed locks. You heard him sigh in content, and he hooked his legs over one of yours.

"D'you wanna get high?" JJ asked, breaking the silence.

Your hand crept down to his cheek, stroking it with your thumb gently. "I think you're intoxicated enough, Maybank."

He picked his head up, his chin now resting where the left side of his face was previously smushed against. He smiled, his eyelids half closed. "You're always takin' care o'me. So sweet, like candy."

"You always need to be taken care of," you joked in response. The small huff of laughter he let out was like music to your ears. You could listen to it on repeat for the rest of your days, and it'd always be your favourite soundtrack.

His eyes seemed to glimmer as he zoned in on yours again. He released a sigh, before reaching up and cupping your cheek. "You're so beautiful."

Your heart fluttered. You were used to JJ's unrelenting flirtations, but he'd never said anything like that to you. It'd always been lookin' good, mini routledge, or we should makeout. y'know, for science.

"Don't. You're only saying that 'cause you're drunk. It's mean."

His brow arched. "Me thinking you're beautiful is mean? I don't get it."

"It's mean because it's just the alcohol talking," you explained. "You don't really mean it, J."

"I do mean it. Why do you think I'm starin' at you all the time? I have to force myself to keep my eyes off you."

He was pulling at your heartstrings, saying all the things you'd been longing to hear from his mouth for as long as you could remember. It almost felt cruel; the fact that he could say these things so casually as if the memory wouldn't be burned into your brain until the end of time.

"Go to sleep, JJ. We'll talk in the morning," you spoke, eyes darting away from his as you changed the topic.

JJ removed himself from your hold, scooting up next to you and using his index finger and thumb to guide your gaze onto him. His eyes were softened, so vulnerable as they looked at you. He wore a small pout, too, only making you want to plant a kiss on it and wash it away.

"I know 'm an idiot. But one of these days, I'm gonna get my head outta my ass and tell you that I got a major thing for you," he said. "You're gonna be my girl, princess. I'm not sure of much, but I am sure of that."

And with that, he laid his head down on the pillow next to yours, slinging an arm over your waist and cuddling into your side.

"Good night, beautiful."

concepts

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talaok · 2 years ago

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Hey, I have this huge exam next week, it’s the biggest exam of my life so far and I’m stressed af. I consider myself a chill person but I’m feeling beyond anxious all the time and I have never felt this stressed in my life. It’s so hard to take care of myself rn like I don’t feel like eating but I have to because I’m nauseous and then I can’t find anything I’d like to eat and it makes me more anxious IT’S A VICIOUS CYCLE I SWEAR AND APPARENTLY I HAVE TO EAT EVERY FOUR HOURS EVERY DAY BC I’M A HUMAN??

anyway, sorry for oversharing. I was gonna ask if you could write sth with pedro taking care of stressed reader, making sure she eats and is hydrated, filing up her coffee, cuddling with her when she has crying sessions wiping her tears and telling her everything’s gonna be okay and he’s gonna be there for her with every step no matter what. I literally crave comfort right now, and I’d be so grateful if you could write something 🥹

I love how caring and kind you are with asks, thank you so so so much for being here. Love you 💕💕💕💕

pairing: Pedro pascal x reader

a/n: Im so so sorry love, im one hundred percent sure youll do great, but in the meantime, i hope this will make you feel a little bit better, love you💗💗 (this ask did skip the line bc if i posted it two weeks from now it wouldn't have made any sense)

He didn't know how or when, but all of a sudden, all you did was study.

And at first, he didn't really think anything of it, you'd told him about the exam and about how important it was, so he understood, but what he didn't expect, was just how much you'd be studying.

You raised your head only to answer him, and even when you did, it was monosyllabic.

"Have you eaten anything?"

"no"

"did you drink any water today?"

"not really"

And no matter how many times he'd tell you how bad for you that was, the next time he asked, the answers were always the same. And that's exactly why by the second day, he had stopped asking and instead, started doing.

He had conceived a whole plan of attack.

For the days when he, unfortunately, had to go to work, he left two full water bottles and a glass on your desk, and an already cooked lunch in the fridge, so that all you needed to do was heat it up in the microwave.

But on the days when he didn't have to go to work, he took it upon himself to become your personal assistant, and your worst nightmare altogether.

No matter how much you complained, he forced you to take a break at least every two hours, he made sure you were drinking the water he poured into your glass, he made you coffee every time you asked, (always only after having reminded you that you didn't need more coffee but more sleep) and finally, he cooked or ordered all of your favorite foods in the hopes that it would make you feel more like eating (which never seemed to work).

Today, thankfully, he got to stay home, so for the thousand time, he walked into the studio to check in on you.

"hey there" he smiled, watching you half-heartedly wave at him before returning your full attention to your book "I brought you a snack," he said, placing the apple slices on your desk and making a soft laugh flee your mouth.

He had turned into a soccer mom, but god it felt good to hear you laugh again.

He got behind you to start gently massaging what he was sure must have been sore shoulders.

"how's it going?"

"bad" you grumbled, relaxing the tiniest bit at his touch

"I'm sorry" he murmured, leaning down to kiss the crown of your head "you wanna take a break?"

"It's not been two hours yet"

"I know, but I think it would be good for you" he explained "We could take a walk maybe"

You sighed, closing your eyes "I can't"

"sweetheart" he cooed, crouching down to be at your level and turning your chair towards him "you're gonna burn yourself out if you continue like this"

"I know but..." you glanced back at your notes "I can't fail this exam"

"and you're not gonna" he immediately reassured you

He watched something happen behind your eyes,

"not if I keep taking breaks"

"baby-" he murmured, taking your hand in his and watching as your mouth curved downwards for the quickest moment

"I just-I'm so anxious," you said, your voice breaking "I-I can't fail- I just can't"

"hey hey hey" he cooed, his eyes looking for yours "Sweetheart, it's ok"

And that was the moment you couldn't hold it anymore, all the stress and fear you'd been bottling up for days started spilling from your eyes.

"n-no it's not, I-I... I don't even know, I just..." you sobbed, and when you looked at him, he swore he heard his heart break " I feel like shit"

"sugar..." he murmured, wasting no time wrapping his arms around you "I'm so sorry baby," he spoke gently to your ear as his hands stroked your hair and back

You hid your face in his chest as you cried all you had to cry.

"it's all gonna be alright sweetheart, I promise"

But at that, for some reason, you only started to cry harder.

"ok this is it, hold onto me"

And you had just the time to frown, before he had picked you up and walked out of the room and into the living room.

"w-what are you doing?"

"forcing you to take a break"

"I could have walked" A small smile appeared on your lips, and with it, a small wave of relief washed over Pedro's body.

"You've done enough today" he explained, sitting down on the couch with you, and in less than a moment, your whole body had clung to his.

Your left leg was draped over his, and your head was on his chest, as he held you close with both his arms.

"y/n, you're not gonna fail" he started gently "You're the smartest person I've ever met"

"That's not true" you muttered, your words muffled by his body

"yes it is" he insisted "And baby I promise you, that everything is gonna be alright" he swore, slowly running a hand through your hair "and that no matter what, I'm gonna be here for you, ok?"

It took a moment for you to respond, but after a few beats of silence, a muffled "ok" made its way to Pedro's ears.

"yeah?" he asked, again, encouraging you to meet his gaze.

"yeah" you sniffled, as you finally looked up

"Feeling better?"

"yes" you nodded "Thank you"

He tightened his hug, as he bent down, to ghost your mouth "I love you baby" he kissed you "Whatever you need, I'm always gonna be here for you"

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tommyiloveyouiconfess · 8 days ago

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Hey have you ever looked into intrusive thoughts about gender/your "true" self?

I think analysing and fixating on your thoughts to try and figure out how you are feeling about them might be doing you more harm than good. You need to accept that there is no one answer about who or what you are. You need to become okay with the idea that you might be wrong. Or you might never know your gender.

oh damn i googled that (my initial instinct was “oh it couldn’t be” bc i have intrusive thoughts mildly frequently and this feels different, not. contrary to my character/dangerous or awful in the same way, but then i searched it bc i was like. could be different than regular ones idk) and you might be onto something. wtf.

like this is all VERY much me

interestingly tho this isn’t the first time i’ve exhibited this behaviour. i was out as a trans guy for like 3 years with reasonable certainty (occasional doubts, but that’s pretty normal i think). and i didn’t think about it all the time like this. i’ve always been someone who likes very clear, certain answers tho, about anything.

then i started feeling weird about my gender and started questioning again. that was when this started up, and it went on for months until one day i just went “oh my god im a girl” and started living as a girl again and i was really happy about that. i’d occasionally think “im probably gonna turn out trans anyway” but then i’d think about that further and be like ??? why would i think that, it makes no sense. i promised myself i would accept questioning again if it happened, but i didn’t really think it would. my old self became unrelatable to me — it felt ridiculous i had ever called myself a boy. i started to, briefly and to my own concern and upset, feel repulsion toward that version of myself and everything it represented, though these feelings were contrary to my character and went away after a bit.

but then several months later the thoughts about being a boy slowly started getting more frequent, and even though before i would just google stuff about being trans and remind myself that i did not relate to any of those feelings and wanted and needed literally none of those experiences (this was true, i wasn’t forcing myself to think that), now it got harder to push it aside

and now here we are

analyzing and fixating did eventually burn out and lead to realisation, but it never lasted. obviously. i think you’re right that i need to let it go and let the answer come to me (im pretty sure im cis..) i just. have a lot of trouble doing that. it’s never worked before

thank you for bringing this to my attention, i’m gonna be going to a mental health professional anyway to look into getting diagnosed as audhd so while im there this will def be something to mention and discuss. im also looking into therapy to help with some other stuff so that may be helpful for sorting all this out. thank you sm!!!!!

#asks #ftm #lgbtqia #queer #trans #trans boy #transmasc #questioning #bigender #genderfluid #transgender

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onlyincentralcity · 11 days ago

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dude! you're living the dream in central city. i'm stuck in gotham for grad school but you bet I'm leaving for Central as soon as I'm done!

as a central-lite (central-er? central city resident?) what do you think of the local rogue element? who's the best? who's the worst? have you met the flash(es)? do you think the flash museum is hiring? (i'm getting a library science degree, with a subspecialty on superhero history)

I'm not sure I'd go so far as to call it a dream, but it's definitely nice! There's a super vibrant nightlife and altogether the people are very friendly, but Central definitely earned the rep of being the "city always on the run." There's a lot going on at all times, so if you're after peace and quiet you're better off going full-on suburbia in Arizona or something. Being from a majorly populated city myself, I'm used to people being noisy outside my window 'til early hours, so it's tolerable for me.

I can only really compare the rogue scene to my experience in Metropolis. To that end I say: the crime in Central is more frequent, but lesser in its impact. Metropolis was like... a lot of destruction and alien invasions on a large scale. Not super frequent, but devastating when it happens, and everyone feels the consequences. Central is more like your coworkers showing up late to work once per week because Captain Cold iced the roads to fight Flash, so they had to spend an extra 20min that morning putting their winter tires on in mid-July.

As far as best/worst Rogue goes... if we're excluding Grodd (because he is. uncategorically. the fucking worst) it's kinda hard to answer bc they're not so much dangerous as they are annoying.... to civilians, at least. I've only had "personal" experience with Cap Cold, Boomer, Trickster & Mirror Master. Trickster & Mirror Master can be quite conversational. If you're getting taken hostage I'll say those are the best to be stuck with; the time until you get rescued will at least pass quickly. Mirror Master's really full of himself, though, so I'd rank him slightly below the Trickster. He gets annoying to talk to very quickly bc he's super gimmicky and rlly commits to the bit. Which — admirable I guess, but it's a lot less fun when you're being forced to listen to it for two hours.

Boomerang doesn't seem interested in hostages, which is fine by me. But he doesn't particularly GAF about getting people out of the way before he starts boomeranging everywhere, so you're likely to sustain a few knocks on the head. And getting hit by Cold's gun really sucks bc it is toe-curlingly cold and you're essentially stuck as a sentient ice cube until one of the Flashes vibrate you out. I'd say Cold and Weather Wizard (tho I've never "met" him) are the most annoying day-to-day, bc they can mess up your plans but not to such an extent that it's worth cancelling everything over. They cause a lot of minor setbacks, you know?

I have met all the Flashes active in both Central & Keystone except for Flash I, who I believe is semi-retired. I didn't realize I'd met both Flash II and Flash III because for the first few weeks after I moved here, I thought they were the same person. I have since learned that they are in fact different people whom I have both been rescued by (& thank you for that, guys). I mostly see Flash II, Jesse Quick and Kid Flash (II?) around. Sometimes Impulse too. Flash II is, I guess, the one I see most often, since I think Flash III operates mostly in Keystone? I can't tell them apart by sight alone. First time I met Flash II was when the Rogues tried robbing my bank. Evidently he is familiar with literally everyone in the city, because this man clocked me as new in town the SECOND he laid eyes upon me. He stopped the Rogues, introduced himself and welcomed me to the area, asked how I was settling in, what brought me to Central, and could he help me home? He is the most disgustingly sincere & friendly person I have ever met in my life. I would burn the world down for him.

The other Flashes are not as chatty as Flash II, but they are always pleasant and I appreciate them all the same. Apparently they have different power sets too? I didn't know that until I had the pleasure of witnessing Jesse Quick uproot a lamppost from the sidewalk and use it to whack an enraged gorilla away from me. I'm pretty sure the other Flashes can't do that. I'm also pretty sure I have a crush on Jesse Quick, who is not only very smart and very strong and very, very fast, but who seems to share my distaste for murderous, telepathic, talking gorillas.

My aunt who works as a curator in the Flash museum informs me that they are always in need of more helping hands! Apparently the turnover rate is quite high; the Flash museum is one of those places the Rogues tend to attack on a monthly basis. You might be better off at the Museum of Natural History. Just a suggestion.

#chatting with central #<- or not really central. gotham #man. GOTHAM. youre in GOTHAM?????#i guess the education is cheap but is it worth your life???#i hope you survive long enough to get your degree and move down here #i dont even wanna imagine what youre paying for insurance #well ok. i guess it depends. cause ik gotham is tough but i've heard the social services are quite good #wayne enterprises seems to give a shit about whether gothamites live or die which is very encouraging #we dont really have any notable philanthropist billionaires down here #maybe jesse chambers? but she operates more in the medical/pharmaceuticals #anyway. hope to see you down here someday!! stay safe 🫶🫶#personal #this turned out much longer than i expected. hm #only in central city #rosie-by-another-name #flash ii #the rogues #flashfam #jesse quick #captain cold #trickster #mirror master #captain boomerang

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iaminyourdreamssz · 1 year ago

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they don't return your feelings...

A/N: So this is going to be a little bit bad bc of my bad writting. I hope you guys enjoy and request all you want!

(kirishima, deku, and bakugou... seperated ofc)

Warnings: Angst thats it

Bakugou Katsuki:

I stared at him dumbfounded after he sat down, and offered me his hand. He's never been a fan of affection, nor never really hugged me. I mean I don't think a guy with a personality like his will ever do such things. I grabbed his hand and sat down beside him.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" He questioned, not meeting my eyes and looking up at the sky.

"It surprised me when you wanted to grab my hand." I laughed awkwardly.

He didn't respond, but he got closer to me. Then i have to spoil it all by saying something stupid like--

"i love you."

"what?" He looked at me like I was crazy.. I'm not crazy. Why aren't you saying that you love me? What is wrong with you!? It's not my fault if he doesn't like me back right?

He doesn't have taste. I'm not the pathetic one.

I couldn't stop thinking about these same thoughts for days after he said

"I don't love you. I have to focus on myself, and if you are just here to slow me down then... we should not talk anymore" He got up and then started walking away.

I'm not pathetic...

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Izuku Midoriya:

I didn't understand what was going on in our class. I asked Midoriya if he could explain the topic. He said yes and told me to meet him in his room after dinner. Just hearing him say that made me skip a beat. I always wanted to be alone with Izu. It's just he's always with his friends or training somewhere. I walked towards his bedroom door after I stuffed my belly with some ramen and rice. I knew I wasn't going to concentrate that easy. He makes me so nervous. I knock on his door and wait for him to answer. "Oh! uh! in a sec!"

a girl voice..

that was not Izuku's voice.

The door opens to reveal a flustered Izuku. I looked over his shoulder and saw Ururaka behind him even redder than he was. It clicked almost immediately. He never liked me... He loved her. Why am I still standing here like an idiot?

"So sorry! I think i should go" I spat out.

I walked away fast. I didn't want him to see my face.

I didn't want him to see my tears. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ejiro Kirishima:

Eijiro Kirishima was a force to be reckoned with – his fiery spirit matched only by the unyielding hardness of his quirk. But despite his formidable presence, there was one thing that eluded him: matters of the heart.

As he navigated the bustling corridors of U.A. High School, Kirishima couldn't help but notice the lingering stares and shy smiles directed his way. Among those admirers was Y/N, a fellow student whose affection for him burned brighter than the sun.

Yet, try as he might, Kirishima couldn't find it within himself to return Y/N's feelings. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate their friendship or value their presence in his life – far from it. But when it came to matters of romance, Kirishima found himself at a loss, unable to reciprocate the emotions that Y/N so openly displayed.

It was a source of constant guilt and discomfort for Kirishima, who struggled to find the words to convey his true feelings without hurting Y/N in the process. He knew that he couldn't continue to ignore the elephant in the room, but the thought of confronting Y/N about his lack of romantic interest filled him with a sense of dread.

As he settled into his seat for another day of classes, Kirishima couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered within him. He stole a glance in Y/N's direction, their eyes meeting briefly before Y/N quickly averted their gaze, a faint blush creeping up their cheeks.

Kirishima's heart sank at the sight, knowing that he was the cause of Y/N's discomfort. He wanted nothing more than to ease their worries and reassure them that their friendship meant the world to him. But try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to say the words that he knew would break Y/N's heart.

As the day wore on, Kirishima found himself retreating further into himself, the weight of his unspoken feelings pressing down on him like a leaden blanket. He knew that he couldn't continue to ignore the situation, that he owed it to Y/N to be honest about his emotions – or lack thereof.

But as the final bell rang and he made his way out of the classroom, Kirishima couldn't shake the feeling of dread that gripped him. He knew that the conversation he had been dreading was inevitable, and that no amount of avoidance could change the painful truth that lay between him and Y/N.

And so, with a heavy heart and a mind full of turmoil, Kirishima steel himself for the confrontation that awaited him, knowing that the bonds of friendship would be tested like never before.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: i wonder who is my fav

#mha fanfiction #x reader #deku x reader #izuku x readeMYdoria x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha midoriya #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #mha kirishima #my hero academia #kirishima x reader

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oldiesstationlover11607 · 9 months ago

Note

it's p obvious who I am w these requests bc I literally said so in the comments of my first request but THANK YOU SO MUCH IM OVER THE MOON!!!!!!!! you're a v talented writer I really like these so so much ///////

I've had a loose idea for hanahaki in relation to clancebearer + rebel red carnations / the yellow petals but I have. No idea what to do about that. Maybe you would have some clue LOL

Petals - Torchbearer!Josh Dun x Reader

Warnings: hanahaki + near death experience 😭

Word Count: 1074 - short and sweet

A/N: I don't write for joshler/clance-bearer but I thought I'd write something similar bc I thought this idea was interesting. I saw your other comment about using the null symbol bc you've liked it before tøp so i'm okay with that being ur anon symbol/emjoi thing. Hopefully you enjoy this and request a few more things :) I also have NO idea who u are btw lol.

I never told anyone. It was too much to admit, even to myself. I thought if I kept ignoring it, it would just go away—that maybe if I swallowed it all down hard enough, I could force it back where it belonged. But emotions, like flowers, have a way of growing in the dark.

And it started with yellow.

It was always yellow with him. That color meant loyalty, protection, rebellion. Every time we stood side by side, I’d see the flash of yellow on his clothes. I wanted to ask him what it all meant, why he wore it with such conviction. But then, what did I know about loyalty?

After all, I couldn’t even stay true to myself.

I’d been with the Torchbearer for so long, following him through every battle, every narrow escape from Dema, through the endless fight to keep the torch burning. I admired him, envied him even. He was always so sure of what he was doing, so steady when everything around us seemed to fall apart.

But somewhere along the way, admiration became something else. Something more painful, more personal. And I knew that if I let it out, it would consume me. So, I buried it. Deep.

The problem was… it didn’t stay buried.

I felt it the first time a petal fluttered from my lips, a strange tickling sensation that I brushed off as dust or something in the air. But the petals kept coming, like little reminders that I was no longer in control. Bright, vibrant yellow petals—his color. Every time I coughed, I found more. I started hiding them, stuffing them into my pockets or crushing them beneath my heel when no one was looking.

I thought I could manage it. After all, I’d managed to keep my feelings hidden from him, hadn’t I?

But it was getting worse. The pressure in my chest was unbearable some days, like something had rooted itself deep inside my lungs and refused to let go. The more I tried to swallow it down, the more it seemed to grow, spreading its roots until even breathing felt like a struggle.

I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t tell anyone.

Then came the day of the hike.

The Torchbearer had suggested it, saying we all needed a break, a moment to step away from Dema’s gray walls and the constant threat of the Bishops. Clancy had agreed, and before I knew it, we were hiking through the woods just outside the city limits. The air was fresh, the sky clear, and for a little while, I thought maybe this could help. Maybe I could breathe.

But I couldn’t.

Each step felt heavier than the last. I could barely keep up, my breaths coming in short gasps. My throat burned, and I could feel the petals pushing up, scratching at the back of my throat, begging to be released.

I stumbled, my vision blurring. The Torchbearer’s voice cut through the haze, calling my name, but it sounded distant, like he was miles away instead of just a few steps ahead.

“Are you okay?” His voice was close now, his hand on my arm, steadying me. I didn’t dare look at him. I didn’t want him to see what was happening.

But it was too late.

The moment I opened my mouth to speak, a cluster of yellow petals spilled out, floating to the ground between us. I froze, my breath catching in my chest as more petals followed—whole flowers now, bright and vivid and wrong. I couldn’t stop it.

The Torchbearer’s eyes widened, his hand tightening around my arm as he crouched in front of me. “What—what is this?”

I choked, trying to push the words out between the petals, but it was useless. My throat was full of them, each one sharper than the last, tearing at me from the inside. Tears stung my eyes as I doubled over, clutching my chest, my hands trembling as more flowers fell.

He didn’t let go. His voice was frantic now, his eyes scanning me, desperate for answers I couldn’t give. “Hey, what’s happening?” He looked at Clancy, who seemed to know exactly what’s going on.

The truth was as tangled inside me as the flowers themselves. “It’s—” I coughed again, spitting out another petal, my voice raw and strained.

“It’s Hanahaki disease,” Clancy started, “it happens sometimes in Dema, a–uh, side effect of repressing your feelings–romantic ones.”

The Torchbearer’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t—what does that mean? Why is this happening?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, the weight of it all crushing me.

“It means… it means she likes you.” The words fell from his lips like a confession, a release.

The silence that followed was worse than the pain. It was suffocating, like the flowers had stolen the air from my lungs completely. I waited for him to pull away, to let go, to leave me there with my shame and the flowers that were killing me from the inside.

But he didn’t.

Instead, I felt his hand on my face, soft and steady, his thumb brushing away the tears I hadn’t even realized were there. “You—” His voice was thick, like he was trying to process it all at once. “You’re sick because of me?”

I nodded, unable to meet his eyes.

“It happens when someone loves someone else, but they don’t think it’s mutual. The flowers grow… and eventually, they take over,” Clancy continued.

There was a pause, and then I felt his arms wrap around me, pulling me into his chest. His voice was low, trembling. “You should have told me.”

I shook my head, words unable to escape my mouth.

“You’re not going to lose me,” he whispered, his breath warm against my hair. “You never were.”

I pulled back just enough to see his face, my heart pounding in my chest.

He smiled, a soft, sad smile that made my chest tighten. “I’m saying I love you too.” His thumb brushed over the yellow petal still clinging to my lips. “I’m saying you don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

The flowers stopped. Just like that.

As he held me, I felt the weight in my chest lift, the pressure easing as if his words had reached deep inside me and pulled the roots free. I could breathe again.

And for the first time in a long while, I wasn’t afraid of the yellow.

REQUESTS OPEN

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sicklyseraphnsuch · 1 year ago

Text

DnD Combat and Critiques

Hey, so I have thoughts. I know! How unfortunate.

Combat in DnD is not always going to translate nicely into a narrative that follows storybeats. Like in a good fight, there's a plan - the plan fucks up - then there's a callback to some earlier themes that gets implemented into the finishing blow.

FCG did the last part.

It's the before that's the problem.

BH don't have a lot of synergy. Let's go back to the whole Dungeons and Dragons for all the roleplay - it's still a fighting game. And fighting games require some strategy.

BH does have a strategy. Hit the thing until it stops moving. And they usually do this through raw, brute strength. But when you're facing a high-level, Smart character, it's going to take more than bruteforce

I'm gonna out myself as a LoL player here. I know! It's really quite tragic.

But in teamfights, you do need some characters - like the tank or the support - who can pin down those highly mobile characters so they can just start hitting.

Yes. She had legendary resistances. But her resistances are limited. They had to burn those. Ideally, FCG or Fearne would have done that. Hell, maybe Ashton could have picked her up and squeezed - or tried to. Likewise, Laudna could have cast darkness and it would have crippled everyone but it would be some advantage.

This team desperately needed some way to limit her movement or ability to target them. But without that, FCG had no choice but to remain on healing duty and unable to chance spells like Banishment or fucking Plane Shift. Fearne needed to stay away from damage - let those better at it try - and focus on running utility. Aura of Life came way too late - not that it mattered bc again Otohan's hyper mobility.

I think it wasn't Otohan that was the problem. A lot of babies are kicking and crying that she was too hard. And yeah. She was. And arguably she wasn't the best villain for the audience bc yeah we know fuck all about her. Here's something to consider: Otohan was for the players, not the audience. At most, the audience gets a kick out of BH's reactions whenever she comes up. But her main job was to freak out the players - and she does.

Because BH is not prepared for high level combat. There. That's my critique.

When your healer goes into a rage if he heals too much, that's a liability in a fight. When neither of your tank-utility players have any reliable capture and crowd control capabilities, that's a problem. The most they had was Ashton's gravity well but she could clear that 10 ft difference with ease. They didn't need a fucking slow - they needed a stun.

This team is not equipped for a fight beyond brute force. They don't have a toolkit that lends itself well to tactics.

Otohan was absolutely beatable and I will die on that hill. They just didn't know how to fight her with the weapons they have. Outside of character growth, they really might need a good old fashioned shounen training arc.

#cr spoilers #critical role

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delcakoo · 2 years ago

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i’m sure most ppl expected this so i’m not gonna make a big deal out of it but!! yes i am going on hiatus for an unspecified amount of time.

it’s honestly quite simple, i’ve just been losing interest in most aspects of kpop aside from the music, which makes writing for it a lot harder than before. i also dealt with a lot of burn out for months and still forced myself to write which only made it worse. lastly, i’m an executive of two clubs at my school this year on top of all my classes, so finding time to write would be even worse than it was before :’) !

YEAh that’s kinda it! for now my works will stay up, moots can dm me for my disc/spotify!! even if we’ve barely spoken pspsps i wanna stalk ur music cmere 🤲 a special shout out to my emoji anons too, you’re all amazing people ilysm, especially those that have been stuck with me for so long <3 (u know who u are!!)

i’ll try and check in here every so often to chat, esp if a new comeback for enha/txt happens!! love u guys and stay safe <3 you may send an ask if u have any questions!

extra stuff i wanna say to moots below! (it’s all word vomits i’m sorry)

RAVEN. MY WIFEY. my BELOVED blr wont let me tag u but you already know i adore u sm playing roblox with u is so fun even if that one banana game was kinda ass!! 💖 thank u for being so so sweet when putting up with me all the time and raising our fav corgi daughter with sm love <3 i hope u get more confidence in ur writing because your fics are always so creative and well written, and in yourself too bc a certain mf thats name starts with J and ends with N is MISSING OUT. 🙄🙄 ok im still gna be annoying u all the time so. bye ig….. smooches

@seongclb katto u deserve an award for putting up with me in dms ilysm 😞 watching the promised neverland together brought me so much joy and i still have a ss of you calling gilda a tractor ok i love u!!!! i would read your fics all day any day u are so talented and ur photography skills are amazing, i hope we get to keep in touch WE SHOULD FIND ANOTHER SHOW TO WATCH TGTHER !!!!! i need to fix your lack of anime knowledge ‼️ PLS KEEP WRITING AS WELL ENHABLR NEEDS U!!!!

@soov reirei my gf i aspire to be as confident and funny as you, you’re literal sunshine and always make my day better even with just one interaction <3 thank u for being so welcoming my first days in walmart enha and raising sushiwon with me!! as well as entertaining me by dying in genshin every 3 seconds <3 (WE NEED TO PLAY AGAIN) oh and KEEP WRITING BB. i will rise from THE DEAD WHEN IT COMES OUT OK U CAN DO THIS ML!!

@haknom kangaroo karaoke keys we may have had only a few convos but they were all so fun like PLAYING BRAWL STARS WAS HILARIOUS we ate the house down in duo showdown idc. and beta reading ur fics was such a treat esp while watching u plan new smaus every other day 🫶 also your music taste is MUWAH gimme some more recs pspsps !!! KEEP WRITING OKKK?!

@kynrki kimmy kimmy kim one of my first ever moots <3 your writing is always such a joy to read and your energy is amazing, thank you for giving me a chance when i was too shy to ask anyone else to be moots LMAO 🫶 plsplss keep writing you’re so gifted and deserve the whole world LOVEE UU

@bitehee cavvy my big sibling :((( i love u sm kshsdknd its been a while but i really hope everything has been well since you moved and you’re still being as cool as ever <3 im gonna replay a pokemon game in ur honor perhaps mystery dungeon 👁️ ? anyway i look up to u and think u are so cool, one of my fav hee stans ever ever!!! remember u have my disc if u ever wanna chat 🫂 !!!

@sunoksunny sunny <3 my other gf. i remember our first vc u had this goofy pfp i cant remember what it was but like u are so easy to talk to and funny?! and PRETTY??? your fits are always stunning and your singing is beautiful ugh the whole package fr… and. we need. to play. genshin!!! I REDOWNLOADED IT FOR U OK WE WILL DISCUSS THIS SOON!! ILY

@slytherinshua ZANNY. u are so easy to talk to we match each others energy so perfectly?!? I HOPE U AND TUALHA CONTINUE BEING THE COOLEST EVER and ur writing is top tier so pls keep going‼️ thank u for being so sweet to me as another one of my very first moots i appreciate u sm <3333

@flwrshee riri !!! we haven’t even been moots for long but i had to add u in here because u need to know that ILYSM. you’re like an adorable energetic little sister that always makes me smile T-T thank you for taking time out of your day to reblog my fics with so much sweet feedback and i wish u the absolute best always!! if u ever need anything pls dm me on disc i would love to chat with u more, and make sure to keep writing bc u have SO much talent!!!!

@wonieleles sia SIA i genuinely miss talking to u sm i NEED to come back to walmart enha :(( we don’t talk much besides our little interactions in the server but each time you make me smile. you’re so so smart and admirable, i hope you keep up the hard work bc i know you’ll go so far and HAVE MORE CONFIDENCE!! you’re so beautiful okay ily 😞🫶

@sultrybaby kel 😭😭😭💖💖 you’ve literally been a day one THANK YOU for always checking in on me even during your ridiculous NONSTOP EXAMS. 💀 another one of my big siblings on here fr you are such a real one and i care for u sm!!! i hope everything has been well for u?! pls feel free to message me for anything okay <3 I LOVE U SM thank u for sticking with me all this time 🫂🫂

i have so many moots so i can’t write smthn for everyone but i love u all okay <3 AGAIN if u wanna keep in touch thru spotify or discord dm me muwah

#delcakoo #so anyways… uh who watched the barbie movie!

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corvuserpens · 6 months ago

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A Girl, An Ocean {A Black Sails Fanfic} - Ch. 3

Fandom: Black Sails Rating: Teen and up audiences Warnings: Displays of misogyny, gendered slurs Category: Action adventure with romance Characters: Billy Bones, Hal Gates, De Groot, Jean DuBois, OC, NPCs (I don't know how else to name any extra OCs I come up with for plot purposes lmao) Relationships: Billy Bones/OC, Hal Gates/OC (paternal) Additional tags: Original character-centric, first person POV, canon character x original character romance, self-discovery journey, kinda alternative prequel to canon, canon compliant, slow burn, mutual pining, friends to lovers, tooth-rotting sweetness, cute but also sexy, angst galore, found family, Hal Gates has two children now, canon typical violence Series: Part One of Six of A Girl, An Ocean Chapters: 3/13 Summary: Constance begins her sailing lessons and endures the usual newcomer hazing. It starts out pretty well - until she meets the master rigger, known for being a major asshole. Not all is bad, however, as her friendship with Jean grows. Author's note: I had to conduct so much research for this chapter and the next. Anyway, I could probably start doing sailing as a hobby, now! There won't be much romance until chapter 6 probably bc I'll be establishing a few key relationships for later. I did mention this was slow burn, didn't I? Dedicated to @galfrmraq for the nice comments and tags <3

Chapter iii.

My dreams were a blur of contextless images of figures rushing past me, of the flashing of swords and pistols blazing, of rotten toothed grins laughing at me which then transformed into jagged jaws similar to those I'd seen displayed in naval museums. Several times I woke up in the high hours of the night, drenched in sweat, heart pounding, knife always at the ready. To my relief, not once did I find someone hovering over me. All was quiet, apart from a few snores and the ship's natural noises.

One time, I was startled into consciousness by the sound of footsteps all around me, but it was only the exchange of watches. In the gloom, I was able to make out Billy's giant silhouette, perpetually hunched over as he traded a couple of whispered words with another sailor. I rubbed the stinging crust from my eyes, turned away and forced myself back to sleep for the hundredth time. Vaguely, I heard someone occupying the hammock right next to mine, who I assumed was Jean duBois.

Again I blacked out, but the dreams did not relent. The final time I jumped out of them was because someone was poking at my shoulder. Panic immediately seized me, shocking me into a sitting position with a sharp gasp, knife surging up in the dark, but it was just Jean, who nearly fell off his hammock with a curse. "Putain de merde! Easy, it's just me." I quickly let my hand drop, fighting to slow down my ragged breath. "Oh, sorry... I'm so sorry! Did I hurt you?"

He chuckled. "No, you didn't. Almost took my eye out, but not quite. The sun is coming up. Mr. Gates told me to rouse you and send you up, remember?" I pinched the bridge of my nose, more tired than when I had first gone to sleep. "God, already?" Jean smiled apologetically. "I take it you didn't rest much?" "Practically nothing. I kept having these nightmares..." I shut my mouth before I could say anything further. Who knew who else might be listening. Don't let your guard down. I couldn't afford to look weak, even for a second. They would be expecting it, and I had to avoid confirming those expectations at all costs. I threw my legs out of my hammock. "Thank you for waking me."

"Don't mention it." Jean stayed up while I put my shoes on and wrapped my blanket around me, to fight off the early morning cold. A better knife and a coat, those were the first two things I was getting when we made it to shore. I stood up to my feet, more or less ready to face the day. Before tucking himself back into his bedding, Jean offered me an encouraging grin and said: "Good luck out there." I returned his smile, though mine was significantly less bright, and dragged my feet to the mess hall.

Only two crew members were there, taking their breakfast before heading out or turning in. One was about my age, with light brown curls and the air of a puppy dog trying to appear like a Doberman. The other was older, dressed in dark clothes, gray hair falling in thick wisps around his face and a grizzly beard to match. I tried to be quiet in my approach, hoping my presence would be overlooked, but upon my arrival their conversation ceased so they could both stare at me. The younger man narrowed his round eyes in irritation, making me guess he was in Randall's team of disapproval over my presence. The older gentleman, on the other hand, observed me with nothing more than curiosity. He had strikingly blue eyes that revealed a great deal of intelligence. With a little luck, in time, I could turn him into a friend rather than a rival.

Even so, I staggered and hesitated under their scrutiny. An uncomfortable lump grew in my throat, which I tried to force down with a short cough before muttering: “Good morning.”

Only the sharp-eyed man replied to my greeting, and even offered a half smile. “Morning, Miss.” He had an accent from the Highlands and pointed to the galley stove. “There's bread and milk, if you want. Help yourself. Don't worry about the cat, she doesn't scratch.”

Encouraged by his amicable manners, I nodded a “thank you” and moved on. On the counter, just as the man said, a white cat with gray patches guarded a plate of fresh bread. Tentatively, I approached, ignoring the thick silence that had fallen in the mess hall. As I poured milk into a mug and broke off a piece of bread, I couldn't help to hear the sound of a hand smacking on clothes and whom I assumed was the younger sailor hiss: “The fuck's your problem? What're you being nice to her for?”

“Shut it, Turk,” replied the older man. “Leave the lass alone and mind your own business.”

The other, Turk, grumbled a curse and returned to his breakfast. Slowly, conversation resumed, and the tension alleviated, somewhat. The half-asleep cat purred when she saw me and didn't move when I tried to smooth a hand down her silky fur. In fact, she purred louder. I smiled a little more and found myself a seat, away from the other two men to give them and myself some privacy.

After ingesting half a piece of bread and washing it down with milk, I tucked the blanket a little tighter around my shoulders, found a water basin to at least wash my face and moved out onto the main deck.

A gust of chilly wind greeted me at once by blowing my hair about. It was still quite dark, the sky a threatening shade of steel while a light drizzle fell. At this hour, the smell of the sea was strongest, so I took as much of it into my lungs and let it calm me down before making my way to the helm. Mr. De Groot was already waiting for me, looking like a true seaman in a worn raincoat. He spared me a glance from beneath his furrowed brow, eyes shinning as black pearls in the lantern light. He adjusted the helm a touch to starboard.

"Good morning, Mr. De Groot," I greeted him.

"Good morning, Miss. Rested well?"

"As well as I could." I went to stand by his side. "And yourself?"

De Groot grimaced when the wispy drizzle evolved to true rain, drenching us both. "I've been up since first watch. When we are done here, I will retire. So, then. What do you know about sailing?"

I ducked my head and covered it with the blanket, fingers gripping the wool tight in preparation for whatever reaction my answer would warrant. "Not much. I know more about ships than sailing them."

"Tell me. So I can have an idea on what to teach you."

I swallowed hard and ignored the way my stomach lurched. "That's the larboard or port side--" I pointed a finger to the left. "And that's the starboard side. The front of the ship is called the fore, or bow, and the back is the aft or stern. Behind us is the high castle and ahead is the forecastle."

Mr. De Groot nodded along, confirming I was correct. "And the masts?"

The more I spoke, the more the nerves began to melt away and a kind of child-like giddiness replaced it. It reminded me of simpler times when my Grandfather was alive and would smile proudly as I, a child of seven, recited everything he had ever taught me about ships. I pointed from stern to bow. "That's the mizzen mast, followed by the main mast and finally the foremast."

"Sails?"

Here, my knowledge wavered, as I always had them confused. I bit my lip and answered, rather jittery: "Main sails, top sails and top-gallants." I pronounced the words in full because I had only ever read them, never heard them.

"T'gallants," Mr. De Groot corrected. "Among sailors, it's pronounced t'gallants."

My face sizzled hot against the cold rain that dripped down them. "Oh. Sorry."

"No need to apologize. It means you read a lot, that's all. Additionally, you have the jibs at the bow, tied to the bowsprit, the stay sails between masts and the driver sail at the stern." A pause. "How did a young woman get to learn so much about ships? It's not the standard for female education."

"I used to sneak into my Father's study to read his naval books when no one was looking. When he caught me, he started locking up the door whenever he didn't use the study, so I would go to the public library and read everything I could get my hands on.” I smirked to myself. “Sometimes, I brought them home and hid them inside the more conventional books and newspapers deemed appropriate for a lady."

That put a half smile on his sour face, though it was no less joyous for it. "You've always been interested in watercraft, then?"

"Always. Our home had an accurate model replica of the Golden Hind on display in our parlor. One of my earliest memories are of my Grandfather telling stories about great naval battles and famous privateers to my cousins and I in that parlor. I used to stare at it while listening, imagining it full size on the water."

Mr. De Groot hummed and said: "You remind me of my daughter," in this strange faraway tone. Then he seemed to catch himself and changed the subject. "What about navigation? What do you know about it?"

I saved that comment for another time and concentrated. "Well, I know sailors use the sun and the stars to know which way to go. Apart from that... nothing."

"Alright." He steered the helm to the larboard side. "First of all, you're right that the position of the sun can guide us in the direction we wish to go. But what happens when there's no sun, like this morning?"

The rain was beginning to soak into my clothes, making it difficult to think. "You use a compass?"

"Among other tools. Maps, astrolabes, lead lines, octants and sextants all aid us in determining our current position and direction. Most sailors never learn the practice because they don't need it, they just have to know how to steer the ship in whatever direction they're told to go. That responsibility commonly falls to the captain, high ranking officers and the helmsman. If you want, I will teach you."

"I do, yes!" I smiled despite the rain and the cold. This was everything I had ever wished for: to learn the trade of a sailor from someone willing to mentor me, regardless of whether I was woman or man. Everyone I had ever begged to teach me had either ridiculed or dismissed me, including my Father. It was not for a young lady to know such things, he would say. I hated my Father so much.

Mr. De Groot arched an eyebrow at me, amused by my enthuiasm. I supposed I was being a bit childish and naive about it, but... how else was one meant to react when all their dreams were coming true?

I spent the rest of the morning with the old coxswain as he taught me about how the wheel, rudder and capstans worked, how to pay attention to the winds and the currents to guide the ship safely through the waves in the correct direction. The rain let up after half an hour and the clouds began to disperse on a saphire sky. The smell of wet wood was mixed with the sea breeze as it slowly dried, so I set my dripping blanket on the highcastle railing to dry, too.

Despite the wrinkles and the constant downward arch of his mouth, Mr. De Groot was a polite, patient man. An hour into our lesson I felt completely at ease with him, asking questions that he would answer succinctly enough for me to understand and follow through in a linear logic. Not once did he show irritation or reluctance to teach me. In fact, it was my thought that he was enjoying himself as much as I was. I recalled that comment from earlier about being reminded of his daughter, which hadn't been meant for me but I'd heard all the same. What had happened to her, I wondered? Where was she, now? He must miss her a lot, surely. I wanted to ask, but... it wasn't my place. Not yet, at least.

At one bell, around eight thirty in the morning, he was relieved by a younger sailor with long black hair and a dark scruff over his face named Tanner.

"I'm getting too old for this," De Groot complained while he massaged his back. "Tomorrow, we continue. Later tonight I will bring you a compass and map from the captain's cabin and teach you to use them over dinner. Sound good?"

"Sounds perfect," I nodded. "Thank you, Mr. De Groot."

He waved off my gratitude and started down the stairs to retire. "Don't forget to bring your blanket back down when it's dry, or you will freeze to death over night. Oh, and Gates asked me to tell you to go see Billy when we were finished. He'll introduce you to Mr. Folsom and the other riggers."

"I will. Enjoy your rest, sir."

After he disappeared below decks, I went to find Billy. On the way, I took a moment to observe the ship in all her details, thinking how much I had yet to learn. If all went as well as it had with De Groot, I was sure I would learn in no time. I just needed to be patient and pay attention. No problem.

Billy was at the bow, on the starboard side, pulling on a line before tying it around a pin on the fife rail faster than my eyes could accompany. He looked up as I approached.

"Morning!" He grinned, eyes squinted against the sun. "How did it go with De Groot?"

"It wasn't terrible." I set my hands on my hips to study the complex pattern of ropes going up and down the masts. It was a daunting task, making sense of them. "He's going to teach me how to steer the ship and navigate the ocean, chart courses and such."

"Bold of you." While we spoke, he tugged on the lines one by one to make sure they were secure. "I've learned enough to at least understand what he and the captain are talking about when they're hunched over the maps, but honestly? When he starts getting really into it, I stop listening after a while. Don't get me wrong, I could steer us into port if ever we got lost, but only for short distances. I can't make long voyage calculations like he can."

"We all have our limitations, I guess. I intend to stretch mine to the breaking point and learn as much as I can."

"That's the spirit." Satisfied with the lines, he wiped his hands, black with tar, on his trousers. Next, he moved us into the shade of a sail so we didn't have to scrunch our faces quite so much. "Now, let me introduce you to the next module of your education."

He rolled back his tongue and whistled so loud I had to shove my fingers into my ears. "Folsom!" He roared to the yards. "Get down here, if you please!"

A figure, blurred against the morning sun, shuffled along the main sail yard foot rope and began the descent down the shrouds, fast as a cat. The man who jumped from them to join us on the deck was in his forties, with a gaunt face from which two bright greenish gray eyes evaluated us. He was only a few inches taller than me and lightly built, though his arms were lined with wiry muscle underneath his tanned skin.

"Constance, this is Mr. Folsom, our master rigger. He can tie just about any knot ever conceived and probably a few no one has ever thought of. Folsom, this is Constance. You're in charge of teaching her about the rigging, lines, tie-off points, et cetra."

Folsom's mouth hardened into a line as he looked me up and down. He let out an exasperated exhale and shot Billy a pointed look that I could only interpret as do I really have to?

So this wasn't going to be as fun as it was with the coxswain. Marvelous.

For his part, Billy wasn't moved by the other's petty stare. "We all have to do our part teaching the new recruits, you know that. You're the best rigger. Ergo, you're responsible for her." There was something about the way he emphasized that last word that made me feel confident that it wasn't teaching me the ropes that Folsom had a problem with; it was the fact I was a woman. I tried not to show how I felt, like there was a boulder in my stomach weighting me down. At least we were united in our disappointment: he would have to suffer my presence, and I would have to deal with his objections.

"Fine, then," the rigger grumbled. He kicked his head to one side as a signal to follow him and started walking.

I shot a discouraged look toward Billy, pout included. In his defense, he at least seemed sympathetic, judging by his sheepish expression. But, as Flint had warned me, there was nothing any of them could do to help me. Defending myself from aggressive or unwilling crew mates was part of the task of proving my worth, and God help me, I would do just that. Squaring my shoulders, head held high, I followed Folsom to the forecastle.

There, he produced two pieces of spare rope from a small crate and turned around to face me. "There are dozens of knots any self-respectful sailor knows how to tie, but when you're in a pinch and needing a quick way to attach something, there's only five you absolutely must know. Those are the stopper, the clove hitch, the butterfly, the zeppelin and the bowline. These are the knots you will learn. They're easy to tie, they will hold through anything when done properly, and they're easy to undo."

In quick succession, he tied all five knots right in front of me, and yet he did it at such speed and so smoothly, I had no hope of replicating them. I felt my eyebrows climb up my forehead before disciplining myself and returning my expression to neutral. If he had seen how impressed I was, however, he didn't show. Just as fast, Folsom undid the knots one by one and stretched out the line for me to see.

"Having easily breakable knots means a full line at all times without needing to replace it every time you use it. It's economic and effective. Let's start with the easiest one: the stopper. This knot is used to keep the line from slipping through a block or a joint or whatever. You can also use it as a climbing aid when you're using a rope to ascend."

He overlapped the ends, twisted the hoop and passed the bottom end through it, then gave it a tug. He offered me the second line. "You try it."

My hands were much slower, less sure than his, but I managed to tie the knot exactly the way he did. Indeed, it was quite easy. I smiled in triumph, with just a pinch of smugness.

Folsom scrunched up his nose in response. "You'd have to be pretty daft not to get that one right." He broke his knot, I mimicked him. Next, he went to stand by the fore mast.

"The clove hitch." He continued to explain while showing me the process. "You use it to tie off the ship to something in the absence of a cleat or a pin, usually a pole or a tree."

The rope was looped around the mast twice, then passed through the loops. "It may not look secure, but it is." To prove it, Folsom pulled on the line by bearing his whole weight into it; for a moment, I believed the end was going to come off, but then the knot tightened around the mast and held firm. "Still, if you want to make sure it stays, just give it an extra knot."

He untied it and stepped back to let me take my turn. I didn't get it right the first time and watched in horror as the rope slipped right out of the mast, falling at my feet. Very faintly, I heard Folsom snicker. He didn't offer to show me again. No matter. I would figure it out, even if it was the last thing I did. After another failed attempt, I paused to think, painfully aware that the rigger was scrutinizing my every move. How had he done it... I remembered he looped it once, then held up the rope... and passed the second loop under the first. That was it. Then the end goes through...

I sighed with relief when the knot held. Two down, three to go.

Folsom's sharp gray-green eyes slit with distaste. Neglecting to comment, he forged ahead to the next knot.

"The butterfly is a knot you make in the middle of a line." He wrapped the rope around his hand three times, tucked a finger beneath the loop at the base of his thumb and pulled all three over his knuckles. Again, he held out the line so I could see the perfect loop, similar to a noose, hanging from the middle pf the rope extent. "And it's adjustable." He held the knot in one hand and pulled on the shorter end with he other to make the loop close, tugging on it to open it again. "Go on, then."

I repeated the steps, wrapping the rope around my hand, putting my finger under the last line, and... hesitated. Had he pulled on the three loops just like that? Or had he hooked his fingers on them at the palm? I couldn't be sure. He had done it too fast, and I was certain it was on purpose. With deliberate slowness, making a show of it really, Folsom crossed his arms and tapped a finger, waiting. I could have asked him to repeat, or tell me how he'd done, but that would be an admission of defeat I was too proud to concede. Taking a risk, I pulled the three rings over my hand.

The knot held. I offered it to my mentor for inspection and waited, stomach tingling with nerves. He turned it over once, tugged on the shorter end, but the loop remained the same. Folsom smirked with malice.

"It's not adjustable," he pointed out. Worse: when he pulled on the longer end, the whole thing came apart. "And it's not secure."

Heat flushed my cheeks as I took the rope back. I had to bite on my lip to keep in the frustration. I tried again, fumbled it before even passing the rings over my knuckles. A third go, and I stumped again. The whole time, Folsom's glee grew. For the first time in my life, I felt a burning desire to reach for my knife and stick it into the riggers gut on purpose, unprovoked.

After the fifth attempt, Folsom took it upon himself to repeat the knot. That was when I finally understood my error: I was supposed to hold onto the rings as I pulled them over the knuckles, so they wouldn't escape from the knot.

"That's enough for now," he sneered. "We don't want that pretty head of yours to fry by thinking too hard. Repeat those three. Tomorrow, we'll go over the other two, then I'll teach you the cleat hitch and take you up to the yards. And let us pray to heaven you've learned quick, or else..." He shrugged dramatically. "A weak knot leads to bad accidents, s'all I'm saying."

Cackling, he hopped onto the shrouds again and climbed them with the same ease of a spider on her web, leaving me behind to practice my knots and worrying if he was serious. Certainly he wouldn't put me on the spot like that, right? Certainly, he wouldn't endanger his own mates by letting me tie a knot wrong out of spite... right?

I looked down at the rope in my hands and dropped on the floorboards cross-legged, letting that weight in my gut finally get to me. I had better learn to tie those knots flawlessly, and fast.

***

Up until lunch, I sat at the forecastle and repeated the same knots over and over again. For all my efforts, most of the time when I attempted the butterfly I got it wrong, which only increased my anger -- at Folsom for being a lousy prick of a teacher and at myself for not learning better. How many times did I have to repeat that stupid knot until I got it right??

When three bells struck and the crew was called for lunch servings, I gave up at last and followed the others below decks, tucking the rope in my pocket to practice later.

The file to eat was already enormous by the time I got there. I was ignored for the most part as I stepped up to wait my turn.

Then, out nowhere, I was shoved aside.

"Out of my way, novice!"

Because I wasn't expecting it, I ended up tripping on my oversized shoes and fell just as the ship careened upwards, so not only I splatted on the floor like a pancake, I also rolled down the deck until my head was spinning. The sole reason I stopped was because my back hit the hatch, sending sharp pain up my spine and causing me to yelp.

The galley exploded with laughter. Everyone had seen my ridiculous figure. Everyone. When my vision recovered to the point there wasn't a twin for every man, I saw one of them flailing his arms around with a mock expression of panic, no doubt mimicking me moments before my fall.

Shamed, angry and in pain, I struggled back up and searched the line for who had pushed me, but all I could see were grinning faces, drunk on laughter. It could have been any one of them. And even if I had seen who it was, then what? What could I do to remedy the situation? Each one of those sailors was twice my size, some of them a third or a fourth my weight. No way was I going to wrestle any of them for my spot. Resigned to absorb the humiliation, I went to rejoin the tail end of the line, head hung down and back throbbing.

It was a lonely lunch. Jean duBois was still sleeping off his watch. I couldn't sit with Gates, Flint and De Groot, as they were my superiors. Billy was sitting with his own clique. Even the other new recruits refused to join with me, like I had the plague or something. And the rest were still laughing at my accident.

Don't let down your guard. Right. This was what happened if I did. Lesson learned.

After my meal, I was sent down into storage to help organize the provisions and move things up as needed. Obviously, they tasked me with the heaviest things they could find, under the excuse that I had to "gain some muscle" to be a proper sailor. Not fifteen minutes after starting, I was once again drenched in sweat and my back, still mistreated from the fall, screamed for relief. I was tired, dirty and utterly miserable. And the rats hadn't gotten any less spooky looking after meeting them in daylight.

I thought about my bed back home and the warm hearth in the parlor, my bathtub filled with hot water and soap, and wanted to weep. To counter it, I forced myself to remember my reasons to leave it all behind. I remembered why my Father had sent me into the New World and the longing for home deflated a notch. I might be tired, dirty and miserable, surrounded by fat rats (the animal kind AND the human kind), but at least I would be wife to no one.

At long last, night fell and I all but dragged myself to the mess hall for dinner. This time when I got in line, I positioned my body in a way that allowed me to watch my back. I wouldn't get caught unawares again. If someone tried to dislodge me, they were getting an open palm slap to the face.

A pirate I hadn't met before, a bald man of about thirty with a goatee and tattoos on his neck, approached me. Out of instinct, I tensed up and prepared myself. He studied my closed fists and pondered on something, but when he met my stare, whatever he saw seemed enough to convince him to keep to his own. He turned to his mate, the man with the thick beard I'd seen Billy talk to the night before, and whispered something to him I couldn't make out. They snorted and looked at me so I would know I was the butt of whatever joke the bald man had shared with his friend, but they did nothing beyond that.

I was sitting by my lonesome once more when, as promised, Mr. De Groot came to see me with a roll of parchment and a compass in hand. He didn't ask me about the incident at lunch, either because he didn't know about it, which I doubted, or because he was doing me a favor by simply avoiding the whole issue. I was grateful for it, either way. With how despondent I felt, I feared I would burst into tears if he had asked about it. Instead, I focused on learning how to interpret a map and use a compass, which was much more useful.

An hour or so before lights out, I went looking for Jean. I hadn't seen him all day, as he had spent most of it sleeping and only got up to go back to work some time after lunch, when I was below in storage. I found him on the highcastle, taking a break to smoke from a pipe whilst staring out at the sea. The night was clear and beautiful, with millions of stars littering the vast black mantle of the sky. They were reflected on the calm waters, making it look as if we were sailing right through them.

"Bonsoir, Jean." I greeted in French. "Ça va?"

The young man turned and smiled with genuine warmth. "Ça va, mademoiselle. Et vous? Ça va bien?"

I wavered my hand in a "more or less" gesture. "Comme ci, comme ça. Je ne peux pas me plaindre. And please, call me Constance. We're equals here."

Jean laughed as he leaned back on the railing, pipe hanging from between his teeth. It smelled rich and sweet, quite abrasive but not unpleasant. "As you wish, Constance. Are you fluent in French?"

"I can carry a conversation, yes. So if you have any secrets you don't want anyone else to know about or ever need an accomplice, you can count on me."

"I'll keep that in mind." He puffed on the pipe and blew out the smoke, mindful to do so away from me. "How was your first day?"

I rested my elbows on the rails and sighed. The pain on my back had dulled, but remained a persistent throb. I could ignore it if I really tried, but it was there all the same. “It was... fine.”

“Oui. I know what you mean.”

A snort. “Was it this much fun for you, too?”

“Are you kidding? When I got on, I was punched in the nose within the first hour. Just because. Trust me, what happened at lunch today? You had it easy.”

Ah, so he had heard about it. News traveled fast on a ship. I stared out to sea, unable to respond at first. I wasn't accustomed to such rampant, illogical violence. But then again... I supposed I shouldn't be surprised. In fact, maybe I would do well to expect worse in the future. And I would either have to take it, or end it. Since for the time being I had no power to make it end, I had no choice but to take it and pray I wouldn't get too hurt.

That was a thought for later, however. I had made it through the first day and chose to take it as a sign that all would be well, soon.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see Jean offering me his pipe with a kind smile. My eyes bulged. “Oh, I don't... I mean, I shouldn't. I was never permitted to smoke.”

He peered at me from beneath pale lashes with a deadpan expression. “Constance. You're on a pirate ship. You can do whatever you want, now. Enjoy it.” He pushed the pipe into my hands.

The wood was lacquered and smooth, with a brass rim from which puffs of smoke billowed. Curiosity gnawed at me. I never understood the appeal of smoking, given the pungent smell it produced, but... there must be a reason and I wanted to know what it was. I brought the pipe to my lips.

“Go easy,” he advised me. “It's quite strong. Gently pull it in for a second or two, then stop.”

I did as he instructed and slowly filled my lungs. He hadn't been jesting; it was strong. The taste all but possessed my mouth and throat, burning my chest to the point of tears. I held it in and tried not to cough, much as I wanted. To my surprise, not long afterwards my lungs stopped fighting what they were perceiving as poisonous fumes and settled, absorbing it into my body and replacing the acrid taste on my tongue for something sweeter. I blinked away the sting of the tears, straightened up and slowly breathed out through my mouth.

“No, no.” Jean laughed. “Through your nose. It's even better that way.”

The second time around didn't burn as much, and when I blew out through my nose – oh, it did feel better! The taste was more intense and I could smell it, too. I smiled at my new friend. “That wasn't too bad.”

“It's not, isn't it?” He accepted the pipe back, sucked in and puffed out a perfect ring. “Can you feel your muscles relaxing? Your mind slowing? There's nothing better after a hard day's work, except maybe a glass of good whiskey. When we get to Nassau, I'll take you to the tavern so you can try.”

“Sounds great.” Again, I leaned with my arms crossed on the railing and closed my eyes to better feel the night's breeze on my face.

“I will make you an addict on tobacco and booze!” He laughed. “Then, you'll be a proper pirate.”

I smirked to that idea. “You are certainly welcome to try.” The only thing that could make this end-of-the-day even better now would be a proper bath. I brought up a hand to scratch at my unwashed hair, hating the oily feel it was developing.

“Jean?”

“Hmm?”

“Is there... This is probably as stupid question, but... Is there a way one can wash on this ship?”

He slowly turned toward me, astonished. An uncomfortable silence stretched between us before he finally brought himself to answer. “Um... Well, you're not going to find a bathtub here, that's for sure.”

“No, right, neither would I expect to,” I stuttered. “I would settle for a basin of water and a wash cloth. That's all. It's just that I don't have the guts to ask Gates or Billy. I thought perhaps you... Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

The waves lapped against the hull below. I latched onto the sound, doing my best to ignore how embarrassed I felt. Of course there was no way to wash aboard a pirate ship. Pirates don't need to wash and neither did they want to. Washing was for girls. Which unfortunately, I was.

But then, Jean put out the pipe and stored it in his pocket. “Come with me.”

Intrigued, just a little hopeful, I followed him down from the highcastle and into the gun deck.

The crew were already setting up their hammocks and, like the night before, occupied what little time was left before lights out with games, drinking and conversation. Jean slithered his way around them in the direction of the pen, where we slept, and stopped. He looked around to make sure we were a safe distance away from the others. “Cover me.”

Quickly, I positioned myself in front of him to mask what he was doing, trying to act natural. When I glanced over my shoulder, I saw him pull up a piece of loose plank to take out a small object wrapped in light green cloth. He reset the plank, got up and slipped the contraband into my hand.

“Now, you know there's a porcelain basin in the privy, don't you?” He whispered.

I nodded an affirmation as I hid the object in my pocket.

“Go there now and close the door. I'll stand guard for you. Wait for me to knock three times so you know it's safe. Go.”

Without waiting for an explanation, I did as he asked and made my way toward the toilets. Luckily, the men were all busy with their games and getting drunk. No one tried to stop me, or even see me. I sneaked inside and shut the door behind me, giving the key a turn for good measure. Now I just had to wait for Jean's signal. While at it, I unwrapped the small package he had given me to take a look.

It was a wooden box, simple but beautifully carved by hand. I opened the lid and had to chuckle. Soap. Jean's secret contraband aboard a pirate ship was soap. Before I knew it, laughter rumbled right out of me, filling the confined toilet room, forcing me to lean on the wall so I wouldn't literally roll on the floor.

Soap. Bless that man. I would have to get a bar for myself after we made port. Then we could both stash it away beneath the loose plank. A better knife, a coat and soap. What a strange shopping list.

Little more than a minute later, I heard three knocks on the door. I could finally wash without worries. Still, I wasn't going to take too long, just in case. I filled the basin with water, stripped my clothes and washed as fast as I could. The last thing I wanted was for my friend to get beat up by someone desperate to use the loo for doing me a favor. My hair took longer to clean, but thank God, I wasn't interrupted. By the time I was done, the water was a grimy gray color.

I dried out the best I could, dressed up, threw the water down the toilet and stored the soap back into its box, cloth securing it from prying eyes. I opened the door and gave Jean a very grateful smile before walking past him – but not without sneaking the box back into his hand.

No one needed to know we were colluded in our mission to upkeep a proper hygiene. It would be our little secret.

#black sails #black sails fanfic #billy bones #hal gates #de groot #alternative prequel #oc centric #slow burn #canon character x original character romance #found family #friends to lovers #stories by crow #a girl an ocean fanfic

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